


The Wolf and the Mouse

by Lucem



Category: DRAMAtical Murder (Visual Novel), DRAMAtical Murder - All Media Types
Genre: Amnesia, Anal Sex, Aoba needs hugs, Injury Recovery, M/M, Memory Loss, POV First Person, POV Third Person, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape Recovery, Recovery, Slow Burn, Tags Are Hard, Yaoi, poor Aoba
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2018-11-04 23:32:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 41,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11001297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucem/pseuds/Lucem
Summary: Aoba, somehow managing to escape the clutches of his captors, ended up on the cold streets of an unfamiliar country with no real memory of who he was or his past before Virus and Trip. After getting seriously wounded in a fight, he runs into someone from his past and begins slowly unravelling the answers to who he was before, who he truly is. But will he be able to handle what he is going to find out, or will it break him even more?Meanwhile, Virus and Trip are searching for their beloved and won't rest until he is found.





	1. The Mouse under the Moon

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Wolf and the Mouse](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/293358) by PinkNekoQueen. 



> This is a republished, slightly updated version of my original story published on fanfiction.net.  
> I'm just fixing any mistakes and rewriting parts I don't like, but I was generally quite happy with this story compared to some of my others and hopefully I can find the inspiration and motivation to actually finish it.  
> The original can be found here https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11575553/1/The-Wolf-and-the-Mouse
> 
> I understand the POV switch from Aoba in 1st to Mink in 3rd is kind of weird but it was just the way I ended up writing this originally while going with the flow and since I enjoy doing both styles I just kept it going throughout.

I was awoken by the soft murmur of distant voices, carried through the chill night air. Abandoned by the warm embrace of sleep, I felt the cold harshness of reality crash upon me like freezing water, and I was suddenly very aware of how painfully hard the brick wall and concrete floor I curled up against was, and how the cold air seemed to pierce into my bones like shards of ice. With a shiver, I wrapped my arms around my knees, my breathe coming out in misty puffs between my chattering teeth.

Winter was gradually setting in, freezing over the brilliant colours of Autumn, and on some of the coldest nights, when a thin sheen of frost layered the ground, and the strong winds held a bitter chill that pierced right through me like a blade, I almost wished I was back with _them._ When the concrete was so cold and bruising on my body, and I couldn't sleep because of the icy chills running through my veins, I was reminded of the comfort of those large beds, even when I was being forced against them, the soft sheets against my back, my head sinking into the pillows while my body was being violated.

But no. I escaped. I got away. Anything was better than that, no matter how painful it was, no matter what hardships I had to endure. I would never go back.

The voices grew louder now, and I felt slight alarm flutter in my chest. I prayed it was just some drunken party goers on their way home, that they would walk straight past this narrow, filthy alley and I could continue to hide in the shadows, undisturbed. Footsteps echoed through the dark, one...no two sets. They seemed to stop at the mouth of the alleyway, their voices echoing between the buildings.

"I think it's empty." one voice rung out from the darkness, deep and masculine. They spoke in English, a language I had learned, although not entirely fluently, but enough to get by in this cold and unfamiliar land.

"Let's check." came a hoarse reply. My stomach clenched tightly with fear, and my heart began doing involuntary flips in my chest.

My body was drained and weak from fatigue and hunger, I could barely muster the strength to stand up, so if they decided to attack me when they found me, fighting was undoubtedly out of the question, and on top of that I had began to panic. I could feel it build in me, the alarm running through my nerves, the racing of my heart as it echoed in my ears, the sweat soaking my brow, trickling down my face in beads.

A shadow loomed above me, and I peered up from under my hood. Steely blue eyes stared down at me, as cold and sharp as the edge of a blade. "This is our spot now." a voice spat. I could almost feel it pierce into me.

I only nodded, not trusting myself to speak. There was nothing I could do, moving was a hassle, but getting caught up in a fight was ten times worse. I pushed myself to my feet, my legs trembling with fear beneath me. I brushed by the guy who'd addressed me, the taller of the two. I could feel the seconds one's gaze eating into me, like pressure against my skin, and when I walked by he suddenly called me to a halt.

"Wait." he said, his voice rusty, as though his throat was dry. "Can you show me your face?"

I froze on the spot, fear creeping into the pit of my stomach. " W-Why?" I asked nervously, my voice shaking slightly as I turned to face him. It probably wasn't a smart move, but I was too scared out of my wits to think straight.

His dark eyes regarded me with curiosity, and he slightly cocked his head to the side with a bird like motion. Then he suddenly lunged forward, and grabbed my hoodie by the collar. He was small and slender, much like myself, but he had a surprising amount of strength. He reached out for my hood, and pushed it back, exposing my face to the cold night air. His eyes seemed to travel up and down my body for a moment, and I suppressed a shudder, easily guessing what was going through his mind right now.

His eyes met mine, and he pulled at a strand of my long blue hair, running his fingers through it. "You look just like a girl. Maybe we can pretend for a night." he said, his voice low, his lips curling into a grin. I didn't want to be touched by those filthy hands, so I inadvertently shook my head in a panic. I felt him grab me, and I suppressed a shocked cry of terror. In one swift motion, that left me feeling sick and disorientated, he'd shoved me face first against the wall and pinned my hands behind my back, bending my arms painfully. "It wasn't a question." he said, his voice quietly sinister in my ear, his warm breathe fanning the side of my face with a sickly heat. Something cold touched my cheek, and out of the corner of my eye I saw a sliver of silver, the gleam of a thin blade. My chest tightened with fear, and I couldn't take my eyes off of the blade in the corner of my vision. "If you try and escape, I might just ruin that pretty face of yours," he warned with bitter amusement.

My heart was suddenly seized with terror, and I could feel the alarm running through my nerves like lightening, every hair on my body prickling, cold fingers running down my spine. It felt like I was back there again, those hands were on my body, that chain was around my neck with choking tightness, so cold, like a block of ice against my skin. The terror was so vivid and raw that when it gripped me, I felt like I couldn't breathe. Every cell in my body screamed at me to run, and before I knew what I was doing, I frantically fought against his tight grip, and forgetting the knife that was held to my face I threw my head back blindly, hoping it would collide with his. Something hard hit my skull, there was a bone jarring crack followed by a short cry of pain. At the same time, a sharp pain sliced across my cheek, and I felt warm blood well up from the cut.

The painful grip loosened from around my wrists, and I yanked myself free, bolting for the end of the alley. A large silhouette appeared before me, blocking my path, and something was being swung at me, gleaming silver in the pale moonlight. A long thin metal bar, hooked around at the end, like the deadly claws of an animal flew toward my face. I just managed to duck away at the last second, and there was a horrible noise of bricks shattering above me, dust and debris raining down upon me as the crowbar crashed into the wall. I didn't have time to shield myself from the falling rubble, because he was upon me again in seconds, and some of it crashed upon my head, the finer pieces clinging to my hair. I choked a little on the dust, but I managed to recover quickly. Despite the tired aches and pains that lingered in my body, I found strength rush through me, and the sharp coldness of battle suddenly washed over me, and the fire ablaze in my veins helped me focus on my surroundings.

I was small, and I was fast. I saw the chance to manoeuvre by him, and I took it, darting past him as his arm was raised, crow bar in hand to strike at me again. I had just made it to the edge of the alley, I was almost free, when a sharp pain pierced my side, so intense my breathe caught in my lungs. At the same time, a hand tugged at my hood, and the collar of my jumper was pulling against my throat, choking me. The hoodie was large, and baggy, and somehow with trembling fingers I managed to undo the zip, even though I could barely keep a hold of it, and slipped out of the clothing, frantically waving my arms to throw it off before making my escape.

Everything after that was a blur. I remember feeling a sense of dim shock wash over me, of running through darkness so intense I could barely see, of branches reaching out like black claws against the night sky, scraping at my face, my body, a sharp pain running through my leg, like the crack of a whip, the world turning upside down. The moon was so large and pale, like a silver disc sailing across the night sky, followed by wispy clouds and twinkling stars. My entire body felt empty and numb, and the only thing I could hear was the blood rushing in my ears, accompanied by the racing of my heart. Something cold and white fell on my face, and I was so, so tired, like something had torn through my body and depleted every drop of energy I had left.

The weariness came in waves, each one stronger than the last. I fought to keep my eyes open, but they were so heavy they seemed to shut of their own accord, and gradually the world went dark, everything fading into silence.

 

* * *

 

_The earsplitting sound of explosions, as loud as thunder cracking through the sky, the bitter smell of smoke burning his nostrils like acid, choking all the air from his lungs. The falling rubble, crashing to the floor around in him in chunks with such force the ground seemed to shake as though the earth was quaking, the hot blaze of the inferno closing in on him, boiling him in his jacket, burning down his throat. None of it mattered to him at all. The only thing that he cared for was Aoba. He couldn't find Aoba. He desperately needed to find Aoba. He couldn't leave without Aoba._

He opened his eyes to the sight of stars, scattered across the sky in countless tiny little lights, wavering and flickering weakly against the ever encroaching dark. 

Mink was out later than usual, clearing his head with the stinging chill of cold fresh air, after a fitful sleep filled with nightmares. It was so that cold he could see his breathe, feel the chill set into his bones like ice. The first flakes of snow this winter had began falling, initially in a fine and steady sprinkle, dusting the forest floor like sugar, but soon in heavy flurries of white feathers, whipping into his skin mercilessly, forcing him to hurry back to the shelter of his home. He strode with determination, his broad shoulders hunched into the collar of his jacket to defend against the heavy snow. As he walked, he saw something, just from the corner of his eye, bright blue against the thin white blanket of ice that hid the forest floor.

He thought about leaving it alone, but gave into curiosity and investigated. With each step he took closer, trudging through the snowfall, leaving footprints with his heavy boots, the figure seemed to take shape. A small, slender man, with long blue hair scattered around his face in a dishevelled mess, lying face up as white flakes settled on his body. At first he thought it was someone else, lying unconscious on the white covered earth. Someone else with distinctive blue hair and skin as pale as winter. Or maybe it was his imagination, playing a cruel joke on him, his dread and guilt coming back to haunt him after all this time. He closed his eyes tightly, and saw Aoba's crying face, engraved into his memory like a scar that would never heal.

He opened his eyes. The man was still lying there, only now his eyes had fluttered open, and he was staring with an empty gaze up at the sky. Blood seeped into the snow around him, dying the crystal white blanket a deep crimson as it spread out slowly. It seemed to be pouring from a wound on his side, soaking through his thin blue shirt. There was an angry red slash across his cheek, and his ankle, beneath his snow powdered jeans was bent in an odd shape. His uncovered fingers were slightly blue around the tips with the onset of frostbite, but it didn't look too bad, he couldn't have been lying there long. He was extremely still though, appearing limp and lifeless like a corpse.

Mink kneeled down and lightly pressed his fingers to the man's pulse point, thinking that he may have died. The man who he could not bear to call by his name, lest he was dreaming, so he was simply just a man lying in the snow like a fallen angel. His skin was so cold, like it was made of ice itself, and there was a weak pulse, beating subtly beneath where his fingers touched. He still breathed in small shallow breathes, faint puffs of white in the air, his chest rising and falling shakily, and his body slightly trembled as he fussed under the touch. Despite the cold, Mink removed his own heavy jacket and wrapped it around him as he lifted him. Instantly his exposed arms broke out in goose flesh, feeling as though needles of ice pierced every pour. The man stirred a little in Mink's hold, letting out a small, confused groan of pain.

"Why?" he asked, his voice quiet and filled with terror, then his head went limp against Mink's shoulder, and he closed his eyes. But there was no mistaking that voice. As weak as it had come out, it was the same voice that permanently took residence in the back of his mind, that resounded through his heart every day like wish or a prayer, reminding him that he had to live. Aoba's voice. He had found Aoba. Something flooded through him, warm and alive, like sunlight bleeding into his veins. But he didn't have time to linger on it, he was racing against time to treat Aoba's wounds and warm him up before he his condition became fatal. If it wasn't already.

He hurried back to his cabin, fighting against the wind that cut through him like a blade, and the snow that needled into his skin.

 

* * *

 

 

_"You're ours Aoba."_

_"We're your biggest fans."_

_"We love you so much, Aoba."_

_Those words, repeated over and over like a broken record. I was in a dark room, cold chains wrapped around my arms and legs, biting into my skin like the teeth of a predator sinking into its prey. I couldn't see anything, something was wrapped tightly around my head, covering my eyes. Those hands were touching my body. At first it was gentle, light caresses over my skin, but suddenly it was painful. They were grabbing me roughly, clawing at me, their finger nails digging into me with so much force I felt my skin break. Fear bunched up in my chest, choking me, and I was bound with terror. But I couldn't cry out, something wet was scrunched up in my mouth, tasting of bitter wine that soaked into my tongue, making it hard to breathe. The first slice of the blade across my skin was an agonising pain, sharp and intense. The second was even worse, and then the third, the fourth... I wanted to scream, to beg him to stop. It was too painful. The backs of my eyes were being painted red, each slow cut trailing across my skin like fire. He did it just for fun. They both did it all just for fun. It could have been the one hundredth cut, or the one thousandth, but by then it was just cold and numb. I couldn't feel the pain anymore. I could no longer feel anything. I had become numb, an empty shell of the person I once was, as cold and unfeeling as a china doll. I stared at my pale face in the mirror, my reflection looking back at me with despair in its eyes. I couldn't believe that was me. My face was so sunken, so hollow so pale, my cheekbones jutted out, odd and angular, and grey crescent moons had formed under my eyes, which used to be such a vibrant hazel, but were now dull and lifeless, the colour of muddy water. The chain around my neck gleamed in the reflection, large and ugly, a heavy metal confinement that choked me._

_Suddenly a huge crack formed across the mirror, cutting my face in half. Then another, and another, until it was shattered with spidery cracks as though it had been smashed with a hammer, and I was staring at the reflection of an unfamiliar face, like an abstract Picasso portrait, everything seemed to be in the wrong place. I reached up, and gently touched my cheek, and when I pulled my hand away, fine pale powdery dust clung to my fingers. I brushed them against my face again, and this time there was a small chunk of something in my hands, with the delicacy of glass, and the fine milky colour of chalk. Then it began falling from my face in chunks, and I could feel it. I could feel my skin break, as though cut with knives, and the hard substance falling away and shattering on the floor. I looked at the mirror once more, and where my left eye should have been, there was a dark empty space, and more and more of my face was falling away in hard chunks, leaving behind only empty blackness until there was nothing left._

_It wasn't the mirror that was shattering into pieces. It was me._

I awoke with a start, the vivid horror of the nightmare already fading from my mind. Gradually I peeled my eyes open, a dull ache pounding through my heavy head. The first thing I noticed was an orange light through my blurred vision, dancing in front of me like it was alive. At first I thought I was dead, but then a sharp pain stabbed through my side, making me feel nauseous, and my eyes bolted open and the sight of an unfamiliar room gradually swam into view. A warm blanket had been placed over me, and my head was against something furry and soft, although it felt so heavy it was like it had been glued there. It hurt to look around, every slight movement sending a fresh wave of pain through my body, but I managed to crane my neck enough to see that the dancing orange light was actually a fire, leaping in a fire place on the opposite side of the room, and I was in what could have been a cabin, lying on a soft sofa. Around me it was all wooden walls and shelves, decorated with finely carved sculptures, the feathers of a dream catcher dancing in the corner of my eyes.

Someone had brought me here. The first thing that raced through my mind was that they had found me, had dragged me back to that awful place to do awful things to me again. But this place was completely different, it had a more rustic and homely atmosphere to it. I instinctively knew it belonged to someone else, although I wasn't sure how I knew. It just had a different...scent. But I didn't know if they were friendly or not, and I didn't intend to stay long enough to find out. I preferred taking my chances wounded on the streets rather than wounded and locked up in some stranger's house.

It took a great deal of effort to sit myself up, my joints creaking with an ache, my muscles screaming in protest, but eventually I managed to, and sweating with effort, I leaned back against the sofa. I noticed something soft and tight wrapped around my body. Bandages, beneath my clothes. One bound around my ankle, the other wrapped around my lower abdomen. Someone had tended to my wounds as well, it seemed.

After resting a few moments to catch my breathe, I tried to stand up, and instantly a sharp pain jolted up my leg, and I cried out, my ankle giving way beneath me. I crashed to the ground with a thud, and then winced, both at the pain and the noise I'd made. Surely if someone was here they would have heard, and would be coming to investigate. I tried to crawl along the floor, but my limp leg dragging along behind me made it a slow, agonising process.

I heard footsteps behind me, and froze, my blood turning to ice as a shadow seemed to block out all the light in the world. "Oi" a low voice rung out from above. "You should be resting."

I was suddenly lifted, and found myself back on the sofa, staring into gold eyes, with a similar radiance to the setting sun. A faint smell of cinnamon wafted up, brushing against my nose, and for a moment I felt as though my mind was trying to grab onto something familiar in the dark haze and drag it into the light. But it was instantly chased away by the iron scent of blood. I felt something sickly warm spread out under my shirt, and glanced down to see a deep red stain, spreading out like dye over the light material. "I'm bleeding." I muttered absently.

"That's why you need to rest." the man replied, sounding a little exasperated. I looked up at him now, and was a taken aback. He was really tall, and broad, probably hiding a muscular body under his tan shirt and plain jeans. Long brown hair fell over his shoulders with two feathered brades, fading to auburn pink at the tips, and once again I was captivated by those golden honey coloured eyes. They looked so familiar, as though I'd seen them before in a dream. My mind suddenly felt distant, overtaken by the surreal obscurity of deja-vu for a moment.

"I'll get more bandages." he muttered flatly, breaking my numb, trance like state.

"Why bother helping me?" I asked, without really thinking. Thinking seemed so hard right now, my mind was slow and sluggish, as though it was filled slush, and I just wanted to sleep.

He stopped mid stride, and turned to me. "Aoba..." he said slowly.

I felt a jolt run through me, my nerves twisting uneasily. "How do you know my name?" I asked, my eyes narrowing.

He closed his eyes for a moment, long brown lashes casting soft blue shadows over his high cheeks.

"Who are you!?" I demanded, feeling frustrated at my ignorance, like I was being kept in the dark about some important secret.

He sighed deeply. "If you really don't remember me, that's probably for the best." There was sorrow written on his face, reflected in those warm eyes.

Panic and confusion welled up in me. I'd never seen this man before. Had I?

But then again...all I could remember was those two, their pale blonde hair and striking blue eyes, the way they touched me and held me, the things they did to me. I couldn't remember anyone else, but there'd always been a nagging feeling at the back of my mind, festering since I'd escaped, that there had been others before, other people I couldn't remember anymore. Their faces and names washed from my mind, drowned out in the torture of pleasure and pain. But I'd never had to think about it, since I assumed I was never going to see any of them ever again.

Maybe once I had dreamed of going home, to return to my old life. It seemed like a vaguely familiar idea, something I may have once thought about. But all those people were now strangers, and I was too broken to fit in with normal society. I'd never be loved or accepted by anyone again, because I was foul and poisoned.

Could he be one of those people? Someone from my old life? But what was he doing here? This wasn't my homeland.

I stared at him, really stared. I studied his face, the tan of his skin, the curve of his strong jaw, his heavy brow creased above his golden eyes, his high cheekbones, partly hidden behind loose strands of hair, his long aquiline nose, his wide mouth and thin lips. His looks were sort of striking, an intense, defined face, with a sort of handsome mature appeal. Surely I would have remembered someone so impressive? I tried so hard to recall, to force the pieces into place, to will the memories to return. But it was no use. There was nothing but obscured darkness before Virus and Trip.

"How much have you forgotten?" he asked, his gaze meeting mine.

I shook my head. "I don't know. Everything? Do you really know me?" I asked. I was of course still wary, but something about him made me want to trust him. It was those eyes, filled with a familiar warmth. They struck something in my head, for a moment a fuzzy image had cropped up through the darkness before being drowned out again.

His gaze dropped. "If you remembered, you would hate me."

Those words, spoken with so much self loathing and despair, sent chills through me. Just who was this man?

"Will you at least tell me your name?" I asked. Since he knew mine, I felt it was only fair. And maybe it would help spark something, help me recall a little more about him.

"Mink," he replied quietly. 

 

 

 


	2. Sunset and Sunrise

_He heard a sudden cry, turned to see that long blue hair, streaked with orange as it reflected in the light of the blazing inferno. His pale face was stained with tears and ash, his light hazel eyes were red rimmed and shining. Aoba. He tried to call out his name, but the smoke was too thick, the swirling tendrils poured into his throat like fire, instantly drying it out, and he choked out the name instead, feeling like he'd swallowed a branch of thorns. Aoba's lips were moving, he was calling out to Mink. But he couldn't hear him over the roar of the crackling flames._

Mink opened his eyes gradually from his half asleep state, his heart racing a little. He looked over at the blue haired man lying asleep on the sofa, from where he sat on the arm rest. Aoba was still there. It wasn't a dream. It was real. Treating his wounds while he lay unconscious last night had been real. Cleaning and covering that horrible slash just below his right rib cage, most likely inflicted by a knife, binding his broken ankle, which was horribly swollen around the joint, the skin red and bruised, and wiping the blood from the small cut on his face, it had all happened.

Even that brief conversation they'd had was real, after the idiot had awoken in confusion and attempted to escape by dragging himself across the floor. That had been real too, not some twisted dream.

The fire still burned slightly in the fireplace opposite them, and the unsteady orange embers sent warm shadows dancing across his pale sweat glistened face, flame coloured streaks flickering against his blue hair. His lips were still slightly blue around the edges, the dark circles under his eyes accentuated by the shadow his lashes cast over his delicate cheekbones, more prominent on his face than Mink remembered. He'd lost a fair bit of weight it seemed.

He was breathing steadily, but every now and then he'd let out a small pained groan, or shiver slightly and stir under the sheets. He was thin and frail and sickly, wounded and hurting, and it made Mink yearn to reach out and stroke his hair in a comforting manner, to wrap him up in his arms and hold him until he was better. This sort of affection was strange and alien to him, something that he'd removed from his heart like cutting away at a chord, and he'd never had any love for anyone or anything since the day his family had been so brutally torn away from him. Until he'd met Aoba.

He almost extended his hand, fighting the urge to run his fingers through his hair. But he recoiled at the last moment, curling his fingers back, dropping it to his side once more. He couldn't touch Aoba like that. After everything he'd done, he had no right. Aoba let out a soft whimper, and shivered, pulling the blankets up to his chin, and then moments later reached out a hand, as though searching for something to comfort him. His fingers brushed Mink's knee, latching tightly onto the material of his jeans, like a baby blindly searching for a mother's comfort. "Hold my hand Granny. I'm scared," Aoba murmured in his sleep, his voice thin with fear.

Mink placed his hand over Aoba's, and instantly thin fingers wrapped around his. His hand was so small that Mink felt more like he was clutching a poorly child's rather than a man's. Aoba had always been small, at least to Mink anyway, but now it was like he was withering away to nothing, as dull and delicate as a flower petal shrivelling in on itself. He held that tiny hand tightly, giving it a gentle squeeze.

Aoba had called out for his Grandma, even if he was dreaming or delusional, did it mean he had remembered something? 

 

* * *

 

 

_They were holding me down against the bed, Trip's hands pressed into my shoulders from behind me, as heavy  and painful as iron weights clamped down on my skin, and Virus was between my legs, forcefully prying them open, his hands already fumbling with my jeans. I'd given up fighting back, realising how futile it was, that I'd only face horrific punishment and gain nothing from resisting or disobeying them. Cold horror slid to the bottom of my heart. I was terrified of them._

_We love you, Aoba," Trip leaned down and whispered into my ear, his warm breathe burning hot against the side of my face. I suppressed a shiver as it tore through my body._

_They usually took turns with me, but when they were together it was somehow scarier. The air around them became colder and sharper than usual, and the desire and lust became tinted with a dark possessiveness. Virus thrust into me, and I jumped, letting out a choked cry. There was amusement in his cold eyes and I could feel his gaze travel over my body. I hadn't even noticed him remove the clothes from my lower half, and he hadn't prepared me at all. I was too scared to think, and my body instantly reacted, my dick going stiff, even though I didn't want to feel this way, pleasure still began thrumming through me, pooling between my legs like smouldering heat._

_I was scared. The whole world around me seemed to go dark with terror, and I was deathly afraid. I wanted someone to save me, a hand to reach out for, to hold onto and pull me out of the darkness._

_Granny. Granny would save me, just like she always did_.

 

I jolted awake. The first thing I felt was warmth, even before my other senses had came into focus. The dream still lingered on the edges of my memory, and I recalled most of what it was about. Just like all the others, it involved Virus and Trip, my memories of their abuse, but something felt different this time, like there was something else I dreamed of too. I tried hard to pull it to the front of my mind, everything else around me forgotten, but it was already gone, like dust scattered in the wind. I used to hate the feeling of waking from a dream that was already slipping from my mind, and trying but being unable to recall it. Now I was grateful for such a luxury, because my nightmares were worse than Hell.

"Oi," a voice pulled me out of my thoughts, and I craned my neck back, looking up to see that guy perched on the arm rest of the sofa. His name was Mink if I recalled correctly. "Are you going to let go now?" he asked, lifting an eyebrow. For a moment I had no idea what he was referring to, but then through the haze of my groggy mind, I finally realised my arm was pulled up behind my head and I felt something warm and sweaty in my hand. I'd been clutching onto his fingers. I pulled my hand away and tucked it under the sheets, a small cry of embarrassment escaping my lips, my face heating up as I silently cursed myself. Why were we practically holding hands? Had I reached out for him in my sleep, like a stupid little child?

"Sorry," I mumbled.

"It's fine," he replied remotely. Then he got up and stalked off, leaving the room. I guess I must have really pissed him off.

An image flashed into my mind, something suddenly floating up to the surface from the darkest depths. Cold blue eyes, with a tinge of green, staring down at me from an intense scowling face. Dark brown dreadlocks, tanned skin, a pink headband, a hand bunched into my shirt collar. The tangy taste of blood on my lips, a dull ache pounding through my body. The memory of anger boiling in my blood and fear lancing through my heart.

As suddenly as the vivid vision came, it was gone and my mind was unable to grab back onto the image, to recall any more, just like the barely remembered dreams. I frowned, confusion and frustration swirling in my chest like a snowstorm. My mind felt so broken, like part of it was missing, and I just wanted those pieces to come back together, to fall into place. I'd never worried about it before because I'd never had the luxury to dwell on such things, but if he really was someone from my hidden past, now was my chance to find out about myself. I knew there was something there, beneath the darkness, and I yearned to find out what it was.

I looked around the room I was in, pushing myself with effort into a sitting position. My body felt stiff, and all my joints were heavy with aches and pains, especially my right ankle, which throbbed constantly, sending sharp agony lancing up my leg. My vision wavered a little at first, but eventually became focused. I was looking at a small cabin room, dyed with the orange glow of sunlight streaming through a small window, and the burning remains of a fire, now just embers and black ash.

The walls around me were just plain wooden panelling, and the decor was very simplistic and minimal. In front of me a small wooden coffee table with an empty surface. There were a few shelves, with intricate wood carvings of animals on them, a horse, a bull, a dog, and a few colourful woven tapestries were hung on the walls, adding a bit of character and homeliness to the place. If I turned my head enough, I could see a white and brown dream catcher, feathers dangling carelessly by a door behind me.

I didn't know how many other rooms there were, how large or small this place was. All I could see from my position was one door slightly behind me to my right, and then the front door to my left, a window next to it. I looked out of the window, but couldn't see anything, the morning sunlight so intense it was as though the glass had been painted over with thick orange streaks. It must have been a beautiful sunrise. I hadn't got to admire something like that in so long, I almost wanted to walk up to the window and gaze out. But as soon as I put any weight on my feet, daggers of pain shot into my right leg, so I couldn't move. A bitter sadness washed through me at the thought, a cold wave anguish. It felt like the dead weight of my useless leg was just another chain, holding me down in this unfamiliar place.

Mink returned a few minutes later with a steaming cup, and the sharp smell of coffee filled the air. He handed it to me, and I slowly reached out with weak arms and accepted it with a hesitant smile. It smelled good, the scent wafting up from the hot liquid somehow comforting and familiar. I couldn't remember the last time I had a cup of coffee. I could barely remember what it tasted like, and when I took my first tentative sip, it burned a little, but mostly it tasted bitter, with a slight hint of sugar and milk, and it swirled down my throat, seeming to thaw the ice from inside of my body as it settled in my stomach.

Then a sudden thought occurred to me, and I stopped drinking. Was this safe to drink? I wanted to believe I was in a safe place for now, but I hadn't known safety in such a long time, I hadn't known a single day that went by without feeling pain and terror, whether it was with Virus and Trip or on the cold, harsh streets of this country.

I didn't know Mink, really. I didn't know what he was capable of, if he would hurt me like they had. I wanted to believe in him, in the gentle warmth of his gaze that spoke of compassion and understanding. But I couldn't. There was a constant fear in the back of my mind, a wariness and mistrust for everyone I encountered. What if he wasn't actually friendly, what if he'd done something to my drink, put something in it?

He glanced at me, eyes narrowing. "What's wrong?" he asked. For a moment I imagined his eyes flashing blue.

I'd only drank a little bit. I'd be okay if he was up to something, surely? "Nothing," I shook my head, trying to swallow down my nerves.

"It's just coffee," he said, with a heavy sigh and an eye roll. I stared in stunned silence. Had he guessed what I was thinking? The corners of his mouth seemed to twitch into the ghost of a smile. "You really think I'd bother trying something now?" he asked. "If I wanted you dead, I would have left you to die. And if I wanted to rape you, I could do it without dosing you with some crap," He didn't sound angry, or unkind, there was no accusing glare as he watched me closely with steady eyes. Beneath the amused tone, there was the softness of sympathy, like he understood my fears completely.

I just froze up, speechless. My muscles felt tense, and anxiety shivered through me, at his words, at this entire situation. Mink let out a small grunt, sounding a little frustrated. "You're not like before," he said deliberately. For some reason those words seemed to sting a little, like a tiny blade digging into my chest. It was like it hit me just how much of myself I had really lost, and that emptiness was crawling under my skin.

But If he really knew me, could I get information about my past from him? Could I maybe begin to remember who I really was if he told me some things?

I hesitated for a moment, before asking. "What was I like, then?" He regarded me thoughtfully, his eyes meeting mine for a brief moment. "Less scrawny," he finally said. It was my turn to roll my eyes. "Seriously..." I muttered.

"The old you would have snapped back earlier. Wouldn't have let me speak to you like that," he said, not without affection, and then he closed his mouth. "You were pretty troublesome."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I demanded, trying to take in his words. He shook his head.

"Nothing. Finish your damn coffee." I was really cold, and couldn't stop shivering, as though ice had settled on my skin, but the coffee helped so I decided to comply. He had a point. In my current state, he could take me at any moment and I'd be helpless to fight back. And if he was going to hurt me, wouldn't he have just done it while I was out cold anyway? And why bother dressing my wounds first? I didn't really care anymore. I felt tired, an overwhelming exhaustion that drained both mind and body to the extent I felt hollow. After over a year of torture and abuse at the hands of two men I once considered good friends, and almost a month on the cold, dark terrifying streets of an unfamiliar country, I was just happy for something warm to drink and somewhere warm to stay.

As I slowly drank from the mug, Mink's eyes seemed to flicker to me every now and then, and when I caught his gaze it seemed there were a thousand questions hidden beneath the surface.

"What?" I asked, feeling a little unsettled.

"Where have you been?" his question was more of a demand, and I was taken aback by his tone.

"What do you mean?"

"For over a year. I thought you were dead." I felt a little shocked by that statement. His voice was steady with no hint of emotion, but there was a repressed air of pain and sadness about him, something I could sense rather than see. Had I been someone he cared for? Had I really lived a life so dangerous, that others believed me to be dead, or was it an accident? So many questions filled my mind, racing through my head one after the other.

I thought about answering his first, though. I took a deep breathe, trying to still my trembling nerves. I could almost feel the colour draining from my face. Should I tell him about Virus and Trip? How much should I say? Would he help me if I told him? No. I couldn't. I didn't know him well enough, I didn't know what relationship I had with him before, and I couldn't really trust him. It was something agonising and terrifying to think of, something that lingered in my darkest nightmares and still had me waking up in the night, drowning in terror. How could I share something so deep and dark and horrifying with a man I didn't know? I didn't even want to think about it, let alone talk about it to others. Why couldn't those memories have been erased instead?

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to." he said slowly. I didn't even realise how tightly my fingers were clutching the sheets until he leaned down and carefully brushed a hand over mine. For a brief moment, I felt a flash of warmth run through my body, and then it was gone and he was stalking out the front door, a heavy jacket slung over his shoulder. Since I escaped, if other people approached me or tried to touch me, it made me feel really uneasy or afraid, and I'd shy away, but with him it was different. I didn't feel that terror cling to my chest, I didn't feel the urge to pull away from him when he got too close.

"I'm going to get some stuff." he mumbled as he left, shutting the door behind him. I didn't hear the sound of keys jangling in the lock. He hadn't locked me in. That meant he wasn't trying to detain me here, to keep me imprisoned like an animal in a cage. I was free to leave whenever I wanted. I thought about it, of slipping away while he was out, but what use would that be? It was freezing out there, and my ankle was so sore I couldn't even walk. I suspected it was probably broken, and the intense pain seemed to reassure me of that, but I couldn't really remember what had happened. It was all a blur of coldness and darkness, of panic and pain. I would die out there, and if I was being perfectly honest with myself, I'd rather be murdered in the warmth of someone's home than spend my final hours alone, freezing to death in slow terror and agony.

 

* * *

 

Mink stood outside, leaning against the door and taking deep breathes. He closed his eyes tightly, pushing his chin into the warm fur collar of his coat.

_He was almost there. He'd almost got to him, and then above then there was an awful cracking noise, and the ceiling began to break into pieces, caving in on itself. For a moment the whole world seemed to stand still, like he was staring at a painting before him instead of reality. Aoba extended an arm toward him, his long slender fingers splayed out in front of him. Mink reached out too, but it was too late. The last thing he saw was Aoba's eyes, wide with fear, his long blue hair whirling around his face like it was caught in a strong wind, his mouth open, his lips forming words that couldn't be heard. That image burned itself into his mind, like a hot iron searing a mark into his skin. And then it had fallen between them, a wall of rubble that piled up creating a blockade, and they were separated from each other_.

_He'd clawed at it until his hands were sore and bloody, until his knuckles were scraped to the bone, ignoring as the flames closed in and more burning chunks fell around him, like meteorites crashing from the Heavens to the Earth. He'd pulled away piece after piece, one hundred, one thousand, he didn't know anymore, he just kept digging and digging through the debris, praying he could get to Aoba, each moment they were apart carving dark despair into his heart. The smoke was so thick he could barely breathe, and he could feel the heat of the fire closing in, making him boil in his sweaty skin. If he stayed, he was going to die. And Aoba had told him to live._

He opened his eyes, looking at the trees before him, outlined by the burning orange sunrise as it shone through like fire, framed glistening white with snow. The ground beneath him was covered too, almost half a foot of it, but the air now was cold and still and silent, save for the distant chirping of birds. He hated snow, it always built up and got in the way, making simple tasks difficult and tedious, making the air freeze and the plants wither and die. But this morning, he couldn't deny it was beautiful, in all its cold white purity, a clean blanket over the Earth, that wiped away all the dirt on the ground.

He took a deep breathe, but this time it could not clear his head, for Aoba filled his thoughts, seeping to every corner of his mind like a sponge soaking up water.

Mink walked, heading in the direction of the town. He could have driven, but the snow was too heavy and it wasn't worth all the hassle considering it wasn't a huge walk. It was less than a mile, he could cover it in fifteen minutes. He wasn't sure why, but he wanted to do something for Aoba, to give him some sort of reassurance. The boy was small and shaky as ever, his voice weak and thin, his eyes filled with a constant fear. He seemed to jolt on reflex at sudden movements and loud noises, as though he was constantly waiting for someone to jump from the shadows and attack him.

Mink had no idea where he had been or what he had been through, but he suspected it had really fucked him up, both physically and mentally, if his current injuries and apparent amnesia were any indicator at all. And there was nothing he could really do, no amount of words or actions that could ease him, that could close up his wounds or heal his scars. Only the passing of time would help repair him, if he was able to put himself back together at all. But for now, maybe some decent food, somewhere warm to sleep and someone to tend to him in his crippled state was all that could be done.


	3. Frustration and Shame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mink tries to help Aoba recall his past, despite growing fears of what could happen if he remembers everything that went on between the two of them, while Virus and Trip start to talk of plans to bring Aoba back to them.

Virus reclined back into the soft black pillows of his bed, his hand curled delicately around a large glass of wine. He took a sip, feeling it seep down his throat with a subtle burn. The taste seemed more bitter than usual, stinging his tongue a little. "Maybe we shouldn't have let him escape," He said to Trip, who was slumped on the end of the bed, running his hands over Welter's fur, a gargantuan lion type allmate, with a thick coat so dark it was as though it had been created from a starless night sky. Then again, his Hersha was the same shade. Virus regarded them with scorn. No wonder Aoba had feared the unrefined beast, even he was loathe to have it in his own bedroom.

"We'll find him again," Trip said, turning to Virus with a lethal smile playing on his lips.

"Yes, I know," Virus replied in a clipped tone. "But it's been over a month. I'm getting bored."

Trip's smile turned razor sharp, and suddenly he was crawling up the bed. "I can take care of that," he murmured, his voice low, his eyes gleaming sharply. Virus finished drinking his wine, and placed the empty glass on the bedside table next to the bottle. "I'm sure you can," he said with a bitter smile.

Trip slid between Virus's legs, pinning him down by the shoulders. He ran his tongue across the tender skin of his throat, lightly sucking with his lips before biting down harshly with just enough force to draw blood. The other man barely flinched, and instead felt himself getting aroused at the sharp pain, a faint fire pooling between his legs. Trip ran his tongue along the tender skin around wound, not letting one trickle of blood go to waste.

Then he kissed Virus, prying his lips open, forcing his tongue in to explore every inch of his mouth. Instantly the iron taste of his own blood seeped into every corner. Trips tongue roughly worked over his, it wasn't a pleasurable kiss at all. Not like kissing Aoba, who had become so sweet and compliant, who would let himself be pushed down and taken with zero qualms.

Virus eventually turned away with an agitated sigh. "Tomorrow," he said firmly, looking out with an icy glare from behind his glasses.

"Fine," Trip replied. "We'll begin our search tomorrow. If he's even still alive, that is."

"If he's dead, I will kill you." Virus spat, glaring up at him with eyes as cold and angry as an ocean storm.

 

* * *

 

 I was sitting up half asleep on the sofa, blankets enveloping me in a soft warm cover, when I heard the sound of the front door click and swing open, rousing me from my dozing state. For a moment I'd forgotten where I was, and the sight of an unfamiliar room made my heart flutter with panic. But then I saw Mink at the doorway, and slowly my memories returned, as though they were floating up from the bottom of a dark lake.

He didn't even spare me a glance as he walked past in a hurry, toward some other room behind me. My body still ached all over, but the coldness that had numbed my skin the night before was gone, and my joints felt less stiff and sore. Sharp pain still pulsed through my side though. I could barely remember what had happened, but there was a long gash across my abdomen, from the back to the front, just beneath my rib cage, and every time I moved a fresh surge of pain racked through my body like fire.

For some strange reason, I felt a fuzzy anxiousness cloud my head and it wouldn't go away. I felt uncomfortable, like I wasn't in the right place, and every nerve inside me was screaming that it was wrong. I guess that made sense, considering I was in a stranger's home. Well to me, he was a stranger, but apparently he knew me. It was all extremely confusing, I couldn't wrap my head around it, and every waking moment put me on edge. But it was better than being on the streets. It wasn't just uncomfortable there, every night was filled with darkness terror, fear that I wouldn't see the next day, that I'd freeze or get murdered or face some horrible fate. I barely slept or ate at all, and for the first week I thought it was going to drive me mad, push me over the edge of insanity.

But then I realised that I'm stronger than that, that I'd survived torture much worse than being homeless, and to die would be a fate much more desirable than to return to those days anyway.

I didn't even hear Mink pull up a chair and sit across from me. I was so lost in thought that I didn't register his presence until the smell of something sweet hit my nose and I looked up. He had wordlessly slid a plate of something across the table toward me, but he seemed to be intently avoiding my gaze, as though I was some hideous creature he couldn't bare to look at. "Eat," he said. His voice didn't seem warm or cold, just blunt and commanding, and I felt somewhat compelled to comply.

I glanced at the plate, on which sat what appeared to be a pancake drizzled in syrup, and the hollow sickness that filled my stomach me reminded me that I hadn't eaten in almost two days. I stared at it longingly. "I-is this really okay?" I asked nervously.

He looked up at me with a frown. "Just eat." he muttered impatiently. The look in his eyes told me I should probably just eat it.

I scoffed the pancake down, not really bothering to use the fork he'd set down for me. It was sweet and soft, and even though it was just a simple pancake, to me it was the most luxurious meal imaginable right now. I felt like I probably looked like some sort of wild savage who'd never been taught any table manners, but I didn't care. I was starving, and as soon as I'd taken one bite nothing else mattered but to fill my stomach, because I still lived in fear of not knowing when I'd eat again.

It was a dark horror that settled inside me from being starved more than once. But that was something from before I'd cast myself to the streets. Back when I was with them, sometimes they let me eat, and sometimes they didn't. When they'd make me go days without food, I'd reduce myself to begging, terrified that I was going to die of starvation.

Aware of Mink's gaze on me, I licked the syrup that coated my fingers. He didn't seem repulsed or disapproving at the way I'd wolfed down the food. To my surprise I thought his expression hinted amusement before his gaze became hard and serious.

"You still hungry?" he asked. I thought about it for a moment then nodded. It was filling, but there was just this voice in the back of my head telling me I had to eat more, to eat as much as I could while I could, because I didn't know when I'd go hungry again. Which was true. I had no idea how long I'd be welcomed here for. Mink didn't seem heartless enough to toss me out with a broken ankle, but once it healed what reason would I have to stay here?

I devoured a few more pancakes.

It wasn't until a while after that he began asking me questions about my past. He leaned over the table, his warm coloured eyes studying me intently as I shrunk back against the sofa. "Do you remember your Gran?" he asked.

The idea of a grandmother was familiar, but I couldn't picture a face in my head of my own. It was frustrating, really. Like there was a block in my mind, a wall of concrete separating my past from my present.

"Koujaku?" he said. It was familiar word, something I could imagine saying.

"Koujaku," I repeated. The word came from my lips so naturally, as though it was something I'd said a thousand times, yet it held no meaning in my mind whatsoever. "What's that?"

"He was your best friend." Mink said.

I frowned, trying to remember what it was like to have friends. People around you. People who were helpful, who you could talk to and rely on, hang out with. Something like that, right? I had no memories of such a thing, but yet again the concept was familiar.

"Were we friends?" I asked. It was a little odd, considering he was probably more than ten years my senior, but it wasn't unimaginable that we could have been friends once.

"Something like that," he muttered. "Anyway, what about Mizuki?" he abruptly changed the subject, looking away from me.

I found it odd, but didn't bother to question his actions. It must be hard for him having me here, when he had memories of me that we no longer share, because I'd forgotten all about him. That would put anyone at odds.

"Mizuki?" I asked. That sounded like a name. A deep laughter chimed in my head for a moment, but as quickly as it had come it was gone, like an illusion fading away. I closed my eyes tightly, trying to think, trying to grab onto that thought, but it was like blindly reaching for one drop of water in a swirling ocean of darkness.

"Did you remember anything?"

"I thought of laughter..." I said slowly. My head felt a little light, and I blinked a few times.

"What about Noiz?" Mink continued, his intense gaze searching my face. I thought of the colour green instantly. A pale green, the same colour as fresh limes.

We repeated this process for almost an hour, Mink talking about different names or places that I may recognise. A lot of the time, I'd get a really vague image, or remember some obscure detail like a sound or a smell or a colour, some association that seemed to be imprinted somewhere in the back of my mind. I'd try and hold the thought, try and uncover more of it. I felt like I was tugging at the memories, trying to force them forward out of the hazy darkness, but in the end it was useless and they all seemed to slip away, like sand through my fingers.

"It's no use!" I finally sighed, feeling agitated and worn out. My mind felt drained, and my body was aching. At some point Mink had pulled out a small notepad and began taking notes, and then he had handed it to me along with a pen and told me to write down anything that comes to mind.

"What about me?" he finally asked. The resolve in his golden eyes wavered slightly. I felt like he was uneasy when he asked, like he was worried about what I was going to remember. Perhaps something significant had happened between us.

I looked at him again, my eyes searching his. I felt a little embarrassed with our direct gazes meeting, but for some reason I didn't want to look away. No. I couldn't. I knew those eyes, but at the same time I didn't. Not as they were right now anyway. It seemed like they were colder before. Another image merged with what I was seeing, like a transparent layer overlapping for a few seconds, the picture vivid and clear and then gone in a flash, the way lightening lights up the sky for a split second. Vivid blue eyes stared back at me in that moment before they melted away, returning to gold. I hesitated before asking about it.

"Your eyes." I said, realising I might be completely wrong and end up sounding like an idiot. "Were they blue before?"

He blinked and then nodded. "I used to wear contact lenses." he said. That made sense. People's eyes didn't just completely change colour, after all. I felt a warm joy lift my heart. I'd remembered something correctly. The small victory gave me hope, and before I knew it I was grinning like an idiot. Not only that, but relief washed over me. A pent up worry had been making me feel tense. The worry that I didn't actually know this man, that he was playing some sort of game and I was being fooled, for whatever reason. But now I knew that I'd met him before. Even if I couldn't remember exactly when or how, deep in my gut I knew it for certain that I had.

He smiled at me ever so slightly, and then it faded from his face, like a light flickering out.

 

* * *

 

Mink knew he was being selfish, but he was unable to tell Aoba the truth of how they knew each other, and the horrible atrocities he'd put him through, so the moment he'd learned of Aoba's amnesia, shamefully he had felt relieved. Aoba didn't know of what he had done to him in the past, he couldn't remember all the times he'd suffered and bled and cried at Mink's hand, and maybe that was for the best.

But then dread crept upon him, cold and dark like ice in his blood, when he'd realised there was a chance that Aoba would remember it all eventually. That thought seemed to throw his entire mind into turmoil, split his heart with an inner conflict. He cared about Aoba, even after all this time he'd never stopped feeling that way, whatever it was he felt, that strange feeling inside him that was reserved for only one man. And Aoba seemed so upset and frustrated at himself over his lost memories, so Mink wanted to do what he could to help him, but at the same time if Aoba was to fully remember everything, he was sure he'd lose him again. 

Aoba would hate him, and he'd leave. He would accept Aoba's hate, he would accept that he would never touch him again. That was punishment for his sins. But that didn't mean he wouldn't worry for his safety and well being. It was dangerous out there, he might really die on the streets, especially now winter was coming. Aoba had already noticed the change in his eye colour, so it was only a matter of time before he remembered other things and eventually it all came back. He didn't really want to think about what exactly would come to pass then.

But he couldn't help but look at Aoba now, painted pale gold in the rays of early sunlight, his eyes seemed to hold a warm glow, and when he smiled brightly, Mink was captivated by how beautiful he became. It was weird to think of another man as beautiful, that's how Aoba had always appeared to him, more so than any woman he'd ever come across.

  
He was slender with fine features, delicate hazel eyes, a pale, gentle face. Even now you could still see that in him, despite how frail his body had become, how his face was colourless and sunken and his cheeks were hollow, how there was shadows beneath his eyes and that sunny hazel had become dull and lifeless. He was still beautiful, and just for a moment as he smiled at Mink, all the colour seemed to return to his face, the life rushing back into him as he became a reflection of his old self.

 

* * *

 

After breakfast and an hour long conversation, Mink had told me he would run me a bath. I'd been a little hesitant to accept his offer, for some reason it felt odd, bathing in someone else's home when I barely even knew him. But I was in need of a wash, badly.

I'd rarely had the chance the past few weeks to clean myself properly, only managing to use restaurant toilets when no one else was around or sneak into shower rooms at gyms and places like that. It felt like my hair was becoming a straggled, greasy mess and dirt and grime were literally beginning to cling to my skin and spread like fungus. And not to mention how awful I smelled. So reluctantly I had accepted his offer. And then awkwardly allowed him to assist me in getting my clothes off and into the tub because I was struggling with my ankle. I was in a fair bit of pain, and I fumbled around a lot while undressing. It was extremely inconvenient and embarrassing, although he had suddenly seemed fascinated by the wooden panelling on the walls, and had been too preoccupied to look my way.

At first the hot water stung me. My bandages had been removed, and Mink said he'd replace them one I was done, so the water seemed to seep into my cuts as painfully as salt being rubbed into my wounds, and the pain in my ankle was so intense it felt like it was burning. I had to bite my lip to stop myself from crying out, and tears had formed in the corners of my eyes. I was quite shocked by how badly beaten up I was now that I could see my naked body. In addition to the familiar scars caused by Virus and Trip, I had a few yellow and purple bruises spanning across the skin of my legs, my stomach, my hips, and my arms, and my ankle was red and swollen up to twice it's normal size. What was most alarming though was the gash along my side, a long ragged cut through my skin, that stung painfully every time I moved. I tried my best to relax, but it had taken me a while to settle and for the pain in my body to die down a little.

Now I sat in a wooden tub of warm water, and it felt like I was soaking in a hot, steaming paradise, the earlier aches and pains dulled down and forgotten. The vapour that rose from the surface seemed to open up the pours on my face and cleanse my skin, and the warm water felt like it was scraping all the filth from my body. And even the soap smelled amazing, it was just a plain, ordinary bar of soap but it smelled so fresh and sweet and clean. I felt like an idiot for getting so excited over trivial things, but to me these were luxury items, something I hadn't enjoyed in a long time. Back with Virus and Trip, they'd just dump me in a bath tub and roughly hand wash me. It was often a painful and terrifying experience and I never came out of that tub feeling clean, no matter how much they scrubbed at my skin.

But now it was heaven. I scrubbed every inch of my body, over and over until my skin was rubbed raw, but I felt like I was definitely fully cleansed of every grain of dirt. I washed my hair, too. Submerging the back of my head in the water, running my hands through it, feeling it getting softer and cleaner as it sifted through my fingers. When I sat back up, my head felt extremely heavy, my soaking hair plastered down, dripping water down my face and shoulders.

And then I just lay back and relaxed for a while, letting the water warm my body, melting away the ice in my bones. For the first time since I escaped, I felt like maybe I could go back to normal, that I would actually have a chance to lead an ordinary life after everything I'd been through. But what was normal for me? How had I spent every day before I'd come here? I had no idea. I didn't even know who I was anymore. All I had left of myself was a name. Aoba Seragaki. But even to me that just sounded like senseless drivel when I said it. Maybe it's because they'd repeated my name over and over, than it no longer held any meaning to me. In the end I hadn't even been sure if it really was my name, or if it was just words they'd chose to call me by, until Mink had confirmed that it was.

I used to torture myself with the idea that maybe I was someone who didn't exist all together, maybe I had no memories because there was nothing at all to remember. I could have been a robot, something they'd created just to use for whatever they decided they desired that night. That's the kind of thoughts that used to run through my head on a daily basis.

But Mink knew me. Mink spoke of my past, and people in it, and even though it was just barely scraps, worthless slivers of useless information that were floating around inside my head, I had recalled some things from the words he spoke. So I must be a real person, with a real past. I didn't want to think too deeply about it, but I couldn't help it. I closed my eyes, trying to imagine what kind of person I was. Was I kind, smart and funny? Was I loved by all my friends, was I the kind of guy people said nice things about? Or maybe I was a dickhead? Maybe I was cruel and angry and people stayed out of my way and whispered behind my back about what a massive ass hole I was.

Was I much different than I am now? Or could personalities really be warped to such an extent that I was no longer my original self, but rather someone else? If I remembered, would I go back to normal? It was so confusing, but in my head I tried to paint a picture of what it might have been like back then, to build an image of myself and my friends and family from the names I'd heard Mink say earlier, hoping it might bring to light something concealed within the depths of my mind.

Mink had said since he's not sure what caused me to lose my memories, there's no telling when or if they will return, but it would be best to be patient, give it time. I wasn't sure how I'd lost them either. Was it a head injury they had inflicted upon me, or had the torture finally broken my mind, caused it to throw away my past in an attempt to cope with my present? Or maybe it was some sort of drug or medication that stole my memories. Had everything in my head faded gradually, or just dissipated over night? I couldn't even remember that much, and the irony was intensely frustrating.

I tried to relax, to push the maelstrom of swirling thoughts to the back of my mind. There were questions I couldn't answer no matter how much I pondered over it, and even though it was eating away at me, I just had to leave it be for now. I had faith that with time it would all come back to me, so there was no need to worry about any of it at the moment.

A knock on the door pulled me from reverie, and I realised the water temperature had dropped from a comforting heat that enveloped me, to an unpleasant lukewarm that consumed my body heat. I shivered slightly, the tepid water rippling around my slender body. "It's been almost an hour," I heard Mink say, his deep voice muffled through the wall. He didn't sound impatient or annoyed.

"Sorry!" I called back. "I'll get out now."

"You need any help?" he responded

I hesitated at his question. I doubted I'd be able to support myself on this sore ankle, but it was so embarrassing before when he helped me, I was reluctant to relive the shame.

"I think I'll be ok."

I heard a grunt, and then the sound of him walking away, faint foot steps on the wooden flooring.

I tried to stand up, leaning against the side of the tub with my hands, but a as soon as I put any weight on my leg, daggers of pain shot up to my knee, my ankle screaming in protest. I sat back down, taking a deep breathe and closing my eyes. He'd left a towel and a change of clothes hanging over a towel rack at the other side of the room. It wasn't too far away, all I had to do was get there. Easier said than done. I tried to stand up again, this time raising my bad foot and supporting myself with one leg. My entire body shook violently as I stepped over the tub. All I had to do was maneuver myself to sit on the edge, and then slide onto the floor from there. It was too late to call him back, I didn't want to be a bother.

There was a sudden stabbing sensation in my side, a pain blazing through my body, and it shocked me so much I lost balance. Before I knew it I was falling forward, crashing onto the hard floor. For a moment bone jarring agony shot through me like white hot needle pricks in my every joint. My vision blacked, my eyes stung, and I heard myself scream. Then I was just lying on the floor, soaking wet and naked, crying in agony. It hurt. My entire body hurt, I couldn't stop my trembling or the tears spilling from my eyes. All I could think of through the pain was how pathetic and useless I'd become.

I heard the door open, I felt something soft being draped over my body, and Mink's voice. "Dumbass," he groaned. "I said I'd help."

My nose was all clogged, my throat burned, and my voice came out horrible and whiny as I spoke. "I'm sorry!" I said, trying to force back my sobs. "I-I just didn't want to be a burden." I hated crying in front of other people. Virus and Trip had brought me to tears many times, and it was embarrassing and shameful, it made my stomach twist with self disgust.  
"It's okay," his voice was suddenly soft. I looked up at him warily, my vision blurred with tears. He was kneeling next to me, adjusting the towel over my body so I was completely covered. "This is very you, Aoba," he murmured, looking down at me with a sad and somewhat thoughtful gaze, his golden eyes bright and glazed.

I blinked. "What do you mean?" I said, trying to push myself into a sitting position.

"Stubborn and reckless," he said. And then he bent down and kissed me, holding the towel around my shoulders like a cocoon. 

My eyes went wide, and a for a moment my mind was drawn away from all the aches and pains in my body, to the softness of his warm lips against my own, which quivered slightly under the delicate pressure of the kiss. It was sweet, a slight hint of cinnamon brushing against me, seeping into my mouth. I melted into him, automatically leaning forward, breathlessly chasing after more of his taste as the intensity of the kiss rose, from a gentle graze to a mildly heated touch, and my eyelids flickered shut, a soft sigh escaping from between my lips. 

 When he pulled away, I felt like all the breathe was being stolen from my body, and I froze, speechless. He looked at me, a dark shadow behind his gaze despite his impassive face. The urge to tilt my forward and kiss him again rose from the pit of my stomach, but I pushed it down, sensing that maybe it hadn't been the best idea in the first place. But I hadn't been kissed with such tenderness in so long, like his lips were touching mine out of genuine passion rather than some twisted, hateful love. It wasn't violent or forceful, it was just mild and sweet and so, so soothing.

I suddenly had an idea of what that feeling was from earlier, the feeling that there was something huge between us, something he couldn't bring himself to talk about. Maybe, just maybe we had been romantically involved in the past. I wanted to ask what we were to each other, I wanted the truth this time, but suddenly my throat felt completely dried out and my voice wouldn't pass my lips.

"I'll help you get dressed," he muttered after a moment of heavy silence. His eyes were still on me, studying me carefully. Perhaps he was expecting some sort of reaction beyond dumbfounded silence. But I didn't know what to do. I only nodded, feeling my body heat up, warmth pooling into my cheeks. My heart pounded in my chest, and my skin prickled. This was embarrassing. But not in a shameful way. I didn't think it was weird for me to kiss other men. Maybe that's because I'd grown used to it with Virus and Trip though...or maybe I had just always been that way, and couldn't remember.

I felt like the air around us was heavy and thick. There was too much to be done, to much to be said, too many questions clouding my mind. But he didn't look like he wanted to answer. He helped me dry myself off and get clothed in silence, purposely not looking my way. I had to dress in an old shirt and pair of jeans of his. The plain black t shirt was much too large and baggy. It hung down past my thighs, but it the looseness admittedly made it quite comfortable and my small body was hidden well among the dark folds of material. And it was soft and clean too. The jeans were too wide for my thin frame, and could only be held up with a belt. They also had to be rolled up at the bottom, several times, since they were too long for my short and slim legs.

He told me he'd have my clothes washed for tomorrow, so I'd have to deal with this for today. He also offered to buy some basic apparel in my size, but I didn't want him to go through the trouble. I felt like he'd just be throwing his money away on someone as unworthy and abhorrent as me.

But, if he really cared about me, and in that way too, maybe it was normal for him to want to do these things for me. Maybe that's why he'd helped me so much. But if he knew what Virus and Trip had done to me, how their touch has poisoned my skin and mind alike, would he still care for me? Or would he be disgusted by what a repulsive mess I had become? 

I sat on the sofa, warm blanket wrapped around me, pondering everything. I couldn't get the kiss out of my mind, the sensation of his lips on mine seemed so familiar, yet so surreal at the same time. Had it even really happened? There's no way I'd dreamed the whole thing, yet Mink went on as though it had never happened at all. It was frustrating. I just wanted answers to all the questions, but I didn't even know which questions to ask in the first place.


	4. Dreamcatcher

The day after we had kissed, Mink moved me into his spare room. Despite being very plain, it was small and cosy, most of the space dominated by a wooden single bed and basic furniture, a bedside table, a half empty bookshelf, a small set of drawers and a desk by the window.

For the next few weeks, we gradually lapsed into a comfortable routine as my body slowly healed. Initially I felt an odd sense of embarrassment around him, my gaze never quite shifting to meet his, heat pooling into my cheeks as I recalled what it had felt like to have his lips pressed against mine. I couldn't help but watch him, even as he did the most mundane and ordinary of tasks, his brow creased as he chopped vegetables, his gaze focused intently as he buried himself in a book, the way his lips curled around his pipe as he inhaled from it and exhaled its smokes, a rich and somewhat nostalgic scent filling the air.

But after a while the discomfort that swelled in my chest faded. I gradually got used to him doing almost everything for me, helping me in and out of the tub to bathe, feeding me, clothing me, cleaning up after me, and even going as far as to acquire me a pair of crutches. He didn't speak often, and trying to force him into conversation when he wasn't in the mood was always met with a cold glare. But I was learning to tell his moods apart despite his expressionless face. From the slight raises of his brow, the twitches in his lips, the slump in his shoulders. Before I knew it I could tell what mood he was in most of the time just from a glance, as though I'd learned it all before in a distant life.

We'd also talked a few more times about my hidden past over the weeks too, and I'd managed to remember some things, although right now it seemed like I'd only scraped the surface of my mind.

I remembered vaguely about Koujaku, who he was and what he looked liked, although the image was a bit blurred and distorted, like an out of focus film. From what I could recall he was a tall man with long dark hair fashioned into a ponytail. He was only a few years older than me, perhaps twenty six or twenty seven, and considerably handsome with fine but striking features and a distinct scar that cut across his nose, marring his lightly tanned skin. He was always smiling kindly, with warm red eyes, although one was constantly hidden under a curtain of dark hair that fell over the right side of his face. He was usually wearing a beautifully patterned crimson kimono, wrapped loosely around his body, exposing his muscular chest.

I think at some point in my life, I may have had romantic feelings towards him, but I wasn't really sure. He was my best friend, apparently. When I thought of him, I felt warmth and admiration, like he was someone who I could rely on for anything, someone who was always watching over me with those steady eyes, someone who would do their best to protect me. Is that what it felt like to have a best friend? I couldn't really remember any of my friends.

I remembered some things from earlier on in my life too, when I was a child. Childhood memories for some reason seemed to come to me sharper and clearer, and they felt more alive and vivid. It was odd because being so long ago, they were supposed to be distant and forgotten, yet somehow they seemed so close, almost like I was actually there again.

I recalled days where I was so unbelievably lonely, it was like something had been hollowed out from inside me and without it I was empty. It was days like that when my grandmother would carry me on her back as I cried into the soft material of her yellow dress, soaking it with tears. I could remember her voice so clearly, gruff but kind as she spoke words to comfort me, and the pale pink colour of her hair, although her face was still unclear to me save for the colour of her considerate blue eyes.

And then there was a memory of being teased by nameless children while I was playing alone at the park. They had had pulled and tugged at my hair, calling me names until I had cried. I was eight or nine at the time, so it was pretty distressing, although thinking back it seemed like something so trivial and stupid to be upset by.

That was the day Koujaku and I met, I remember how he rushed in to save me and chased away the bullies. I remembered staring at his back in wide eyed wonder, thinking that he must be some sort of super hero from a comic book. Even back then he had worn a red kimono, and traditional attire like that was something strange and different, so it really was like a hero's costume, bold and crimson in the light

He had seemed to stand so strong and tall at the time, towering over both me and the other kids, creating a wall between us. When he turned to me his eyes were dark with concern, but he had smiled kindly. He'd comforted me and walked me home, and we'd been friends ever since. It was still a bit hazy, but it made me feel extremely warm and happy, to play that scene over in my head. It was like watching your favourite part of a movie and noticing exciting new details every time.

There wasn't really anything else significant I could recall, but I had a feeling it was all gradually coming back to me. I could feel the memories within me, I just couldn't envision them. It was as though they were obscured in darkness and shadows, but ever so slowly being cast into the light.

"Aoba, I'm going to bed now," Mink's voice pulled me from my thoughts, and with tired eyes I slowly swung my head around to gaze up at him from my seat on the sofa. He looked tired, dark circles like charcoal smudges beneath his eyes, shoulders slumped slightly, gaze weary as it reflected the dying embers of the fire light. "Do you need anything before I sleep?"

I shook my head, eyes dropping to the floor, before pushing myself to my feet and leaning on my crutches as I slowly made my way to my room. His eyes followed me across the room, I didn't need to look his way to know he was watching. I was used to it, the feeling of his gaze on me, the tension in his body as he readied himself to help me at any moment if I should fall. I had a few times, and within seconds he was always there, helping me to my feet.

"I'm fine," I assured him as I reached the threshold, closing the door behind me, shutting off my view of his watchful golden eyes.

I was still trying to get used to the idea of having a bed of my own. Even after weeks, I shifted nervously beneath the covers, trying to fall asleep. It wasn't that I was uncomfortable, I just wasn't wasn't used to feeling safe in a bed, since lots of unspeakable and terrifying things had taken place in Virus and Trip's beds. My mind was caught in an endless cycle of fear, making sure that I was alone, that no one was going to come through and hurt me. I knew I was safe, and that the idea I was in danger was preposterous, but it was hard to shake off all the feelings that had been ingrained into me.  
It was like this every night I'd spent here, but eventually I managed to fall asleep, after hours of lying in the dark, staring up at the barely visible ceiling, but even then the night terrors descended like storm clouds and I awoke in the night with a jolt.

"Aoba...we love you..."

Their voices still echoed through my head, I could still see their perverse laughing faces and icy blue eyes, still feel the agony of my skin being clawed and torn off in strips by their prying hands until I felt nothing but horror, saw nothing but my own blood as it painted the room around me. Through the distorted darkness, a spear of terror struck my racing heart when I could see nothing but the pitch dark of night, and in a panic I thought I had been blindfolded and began trembling and sweating beneath the bed covers.

My heart was beating wildly in my chest, cold sweat dripping from every pore in my body, and I struggled to breathe, taking in shallow breathes as though my throat was being crushed. My body felt trapped under a heavy weight, as though the bed covers were vines wrapping around me and holding me down. I struggled against them in a blind panic, frantically pushing against them as though I was trying to break free of chains, hearing myself hysterically cry out. My mind was suddenly thrown back to my time with Virus and Trip, and it felt like I was shackled to them again and I could feel the sting of iron around my wrists, the cold metal seeping into my skin like ice.

There was a soft knocking on the door, and a familiar voice called out my name as Mink entered the room. In the back of my mind I knew it was him, and I knew I was safe, but terror lanced through me anyway, washing away all reason. All I could see was Virus and Trip, like ghosts dancing around in the dark, all I could hear was their voices, echoing through my head like a sinister joke that drowned out everything else. Their smiles were engraved into the back of my eyelids every time I closed my eyes, the pain they had caused me was burned into my mind, as though scorched there with hot iron. Even though I had escaped them, I could still feel those shackles around my body, still hear the metallic ringing of the chains every time I moved.

In my mindless panic I began desperately lashing out at thin air, trying to attack some phantom that wasn't actually there, a memory from a past I wished I could forget. I could hear myself screaming, but my voice didn't sound like my own. It sounded distorted and distant, the wailing of someone else.

My fist suddenly connected with something hard, and then my wrists were trapped in the warm grip of large hands, tightly clamped around them. I tried to pull away, but that hold on me was so strong that I could barely move my frail limbs. "Let me go!" I cried, my voice hoarse and trembling. "Please..." I began pleading quietly

"Aoba." A voice spoke harshly, and suddenly I was no longer staring at a world of chaos and darkness filled with laughing faces and metal chains, but rather golden eyes fiery with anger. "Wake up, idiot." Mink grunted, sounding extremely agitated. I blinked, feeling something warm and wet roll down my face. "Mink..." I muttered, staring at him through a blur of tears as my senses and wits gradually returned. As my mind gradually cleared of half asleep delusions, I realised that I was in Mink's spare room.

As he loosened his hold on my wrists, I dragged my sleepy gaze around the room, my head still in a little bit of a muddle. I tried to take everything in, to confirm it was all real and I was actually there. There was the familiar sight of the bedroom, but it was blanketed in darkness, so it became obscured. But everything was there, I could make out the black silhouettes of the wooden desk and chair by the window, the empty book shelf and a wardrobe across from me.   
"Are you calm now?" Mink asked, his eyes watching me like a hawk. I guess he was waiting for me to freak out again, but I only nodded in silence, feeling a sickness burn at the bottom of my stomach. "Sorry." I muttered quietly.

"It's not your fault," He responded, but as usual his tone was hard to read and I couldn't make out his expression in the dark. I was certain he was angry at me. I'd woken him up in the middle of the night and then lashed out at him for trying to help me.

I was still trembling, a dim fear buzzing through my nerves, but I tried hard to push it down, because I knew it was just another nightmare, and that right now I was in a safe place. But no matter how safe I was, it couldn't stop the mindless panic that terrifying dreams like that caused, and I couldn't stop the memories of how Virus and Trip had tortured me from resurfacing. It hadn't even been two months since I got away from them, and some of the nights I'd spent on the streets, freezing beneath the cold light of the stars, or tucked into cramped little alleys, curled up and shivering, I was too afraid to sleep in case I woke up to find myself back with them again. The only sleep I had gotten usually came from passing out due to exhaustion or hunger.

I knew it was different now, that I was safer with Mink than I had been in a long time, but those fears always lingered within me, fear that I'd be imprisoned again, fear that I'd be abused and tortured, fear that I would return to a mindless puppet of their whims, and lose myself in despair. And now I was afraid of the coldness and hunger of the streets, too.

Mink had still been holding me, but he abruptly let go and stood up to leave. Before I could stop myself, I called out his name. He turned and stared at me, and I could almost feel his gaze burn into my skin. I shrunk back beneath the covers and felt heat rush to my face. "I'm scared. Can you stay for a while?" I didn't really know what I was saying, but I regretted those words the instant they left my mouth. I had no idea why I'd requested something so childish, but when I found the courage to look back up at him again, Mink just frowned, let out a long sigh of frustration and grabbed the chair from the other side of the room. He sat himself at the end of the bed, and I could feel his watchful eyes on me, his presence somehow familiar and comforting.

"Another nightmare?" he asked.

"Yeah," I replied nervously. "I have them a lot."

He made a small noise that almost sounded like a grunt of acknowledgement , and then fell silent. I thought of trying to say something, but I felt too tired to hold a conversation, my thoughts were slow and clumsy, the haze of sleep already descending upon me once more. After a while I felt overcome with a heavy exhaustion, that seemed to spread to every corner of my body and mind alike. "I'm sorry for making you stay," I mumbled groggily, closing my eyes.

"It's fine," he replied, and that was the last we spoke before I slipped back into sleep. When I awoke, it was to a stream of orange sunlight pouring through the windows, illuminating the room in its fiery glow. For once I'd had pleasant dreams, but as I woke up and the edges of sleep drifted away, so did the memories of what I'd dreamed, leaving only a fading warmth and comfort behind. As I slowly pushed myself up into a sitting position, I noticed something unfamiliar from the corner of my eye, swaying above the bed. I turned my gaze up and saw a blue dream catcher, hanging on the wall above me.

I stared at it for a while, taken aback. It definitely hadn't been there before this morning. But now it gracefully dangled above me, and the more I stared at it, the more I came to admire its beauty. The intricate web design that was woven into the hoop, complimented by the blue feathers and beads attached to it, made me think this was something someone had put a lot of work and care into creating. I wondered if Mink had made it, but it seemed more likely it was just an old trinket he had lying around, and had decided to put it up in my room. Even so, the thought was enough to make my heart flutter with joy, a subtle warmth filling me. He had done this for me, however small a gesture it was, because he knew I was troubled by nightmares.

 

* * *

 

 

Virus stared at the screen. The image was blurred, the colour slightly faded, but that pale skin and vivid blue hair was impossible to mistake. It was definitely Aoba he was staring at. He nodded to trip, who was at the other side of the counter, eyeing up a colourful home baked cake. He was barely able to stop himself from rolling his eyes as his partner asked for a slice.

"Will that be all, agents?" the woman asked, her voice over friendly, her smile sickly sweet. Their fake badges weren't foolproof, but with the right skill for pretense they were enough to convince any common idiot that they were the real deal. This one was particularly stupid, a young brunette who couldn't take her wide eyes off of them, staring like they were some delicious meal to be eaten up.

They had checked every gas station, convenience store and cafe for miles, using the same story, that they were searching for a young Asian man with blue hair who was paramount in an ongoing investigation and they were not to breathe a word to anyone about what they had been told. This was the first time they'd seen him on actual security footage, although from other witness accounts they now had a rough idea of the general direction in which he was heading.

Virus only nodded, returned her smile and slipped around the desk to join his partner at the till. "Thank you," he said, in that practised tone that perfectly emulated genuine appreciation. His eyes were still cold, and that ice crept into his gut. He held nothing but disdain for most other people.


	5. The Burning Silence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is quite short but I wanted to update soon because I haven't in a while and people might start to think I'm not going to write any more of this. Sorry for being slow, I've had creative block for a while T_T

I expected us to eat breakfast in relative silence, much like every other morning, but to my surprise, as I tiredly sipped at a mug of coffee, the wisps of steam and strong scent wafting into my face, Mink spoke more than a few coherent words to me. "I'm going back to work tomorrow," he stated, not even looking up from his poached eggs. "Will you manage on your own?"

I wanted to tell him not to worry, that I'd be perfectly fine, but honestly the idea of being alone so suddenly made a dim fear settle in the pit of my stomach, a subtle anxiousness prick at my nerves. What if something happened to me while he was gone? My ankle was still weak, the wound on my side hadn't healed. A simple fall and I could break my bone again, reopen my cut. What if someone tried to break in? It wasn't like I could fight them, not in my condition. What if those two found me here?  
The thought made bile crawl up my throat, my breakfast threatening to resurface, and I suppressed a shudder, staring down into my coffee cup. A muddy reflection of a face etched with uncertainty stared back at me from the dark liquid. "I...think so," was all I said, raising my head tentatively.

  
Something about the way his eyes settled on me, sharp and golden like the smooth surface of coins, made me think he didn't quite believe me. But I couldn't tell him that I didn't want him to go, even if it was the truth. He had his own life to get on with, and babying me had held him back enough.

  
But in the end he only nodded with a slight frown on his face, and we finished eating in silence.

  
The next morning, he roused me earlier than usual for breakfast, judging by the fact it was still dark outside, the world painted in dim blue light and heavy grey shadows rather than the brilliant orange glow of sunrise.

  
I hadn't slept very well during the night. It started off as the usual dreams about Virus and Trip, but eventually they twisted into a world of dark smoke and orange flames, the wood of this cabin burning until it was nothing but charred planks and piles of ash gathered up like snow. I saw images of myself buried beneath that ash, body burned down so much it was barely recognisable, save for black fingers curled over what used to be my face like monstrous talons.

  
Through a haze of tiredness that left me feeling drained and sluggish, nerves bundled in my chest like writhing snakes, I couldn't stop my mind from wandering back to those nightmares occasionally during breakfast. Our usual silence as we ate somehow felt heavier, like it was pressing down on my skin, and I struggled to swallow my food properly, as though a jagged rock was caught in my throat.

I knew that as soon as we finished eating and everything was cleared away, he would leave. And I knew the real reason I didn't want him to go was because I was afraid of being alone more than anything. To me, solitude was being locked in a cold dark room for days, lying naked in my own urine, chains like sharp fanged metal mouths clamped around my neck and limbs. It was curled up in some dark doorway or alley, shivering as ice entered my veins, staring up at a black sky with only the pale, screaming face of the moon to keep me company.  
I knew all my fears were far fetched and ridiculous, that I would be fine, but all the anxiousness swelling within me seemed to converge into this feeling of not wanting him to leave my side, and it stuck in my chest like glue.

"Do you have to go?" I finally asked the question that had been restlessly poised on the tip of my tongue all morning.

"You talk like I'm leaving forever," he muttered in respone, gaze cast downward. There was something in his voice, a repressed sadness, almost like grief, that made me stop and stare at him in silence. But when he raised his head again, his face was set to its normal, indecipherable expression, and his warm eyes were unwavering.  
"Well, I'll be back by dinner time," he declared, pushing himself to his feet and clearing the plates all in one swift and practised motion. "If I can, I'll check in around lunch time," he added.

  
After cleaning up, he shrugged on his coat, a long black heavy thing that almost reached his ankles, his shoulders hunched into the fur collar as he opened the door. I was sat on the sofa by the fire, a soft woven blanket draped over my legs, and even from there I felt the cold blast of wind cut through the air like an icy blade, throwing the hair around my face in a whirl and sending the soft flames of the fire into a frenzied dance.

  
My gaze snapped up to the doorway as I shivered in my seat, just in time to catch sight of him disappearing into the orange glow of sunrise, so bright it was like the horizon had been set alight, with an uttered curse under his breath. And then the small wooden door was closed and he was gone, possibly for next eight or so hours.  
My nerves flared up, my stomach feeling uneasy for a while, but once I got used to the silence I was fine. For the first few hours.

I had been reading a lot lately, it was one of the few sources of entertainment in Mink's home. He didn't own a TV at all, only a landline phone which seemed to be of the Twenty First century rather than the Twenty Second, and an old fashioned wireless radio with which he listened to local and national news reports almost every morning and evening. And I hadn't seen an All-mate in his house at all, either. I guessed he was a technophobe who hated gadgets and electronics and such, which was fine with me. It did get a little boring, but boring was better than imprisoned or dead.

  
I dozed off while reading, a weariness pushing down on my eyelids, settling into my veins like lead, book pressed open against my chest.

  
_At first it was a pleasant dream. An ocean that stretched out before me in endless waves of blue, warm sand softly sifting between my bare toes. The sun was high in the sky, a glowing orb that painted the sea with shimmering fragments of pale gold. Mink was there too, the breeze blowing his long brown hair away from his face in soft curls, his warm honey eyes watching me carefully as I timidly dipped my toes in the rush of water surging up the shore, the sea foam washing over my feet._

  
_He called my name, and when I turned his jaw worked as though he was about to speak, but then suddenly fire painted the sky and a shock wave of heat and smoke blew me off of my feet, aggressively knocking the air from my lungs like a punch to the chest, and the world around me was burning._

  
_And then there was darkness so intense it felt as though my vision was being swallowed up by ink, and a silence that seemed to creep into my ears, draw out the rapid beating of my heart. Through the endless black I saw a pair of glowing blue eyes, directly meeting my gaze with the sharp intensity of a thousand knives._

  
_I swallowed hard, terror creeping around my heart like a dark fog. "Aoba," I heard my name being spoken softly, a sweet voice of adoration. But it was laced with something cold and deadly, sweet honey poured over sharp blades, and as though a gloomy curtain was suddenly being pulled away, a figure appeared in front of me._

  
_Green glasses framed that cold gaze, and his lips curled up into a razor grin._

  
_I felt something inside my gut shatter like glass, dread spilling through me in an icy flood. I tried to push myself to my feet, to run away, but something heavy jangled harshly around my ankles, and it pulled me to the ground with a bone jarring thud, sending a shock of pain through my body that seemed to reverberate all the way to my finger tips._   
_As I lay on the ground, pulse driving into my skull in rapid drumbeats, vision blurred and darkening around the edges, I could see it there in the distance, my beach and my sunny skies and my Mink standing there, watching me, waiting for me to come back. I could see the sadness in his eyes, how they wavered when he looked down, even when his still face gave nothing away, it was always in his eyes._

  
_I cried out for him, I called his name until my throat felt like it was being torn to shreds with knives, until my lungs were burning as though filled with hot smoke and my vision was drowning in tears. But he just watched me, silently, that sorrow burning in his eyes with all the loneliness and desperation of a dying star._

_And then hands were on me, fingers clamped around my ankles, burrowing into my skin as he dragged me back into the darkness. I could feel everything being pulled away from me, the ones I loved slipping through my fingers, the memories of who I am fading like the light of day being swallowed by the encroaching black of night._   
_I fought against him with everything I had, fought and struggled for my life, for my past, my present and my future. My fingernails scraped against the floor until they were torn off and I was bleeding, and I kicked and screamed, twisted and writhed in his hold, spat out threats and insults, choked out sobs and begs. But he was stronger than me, he pulled me further and further away, like the swirling depths of an ocean dragging me under, and no matter how I resisted I couldn't break free._

  
_And then the floor crumbled beneath me as though some great hammer had smashed it like glass, and I was falling into a dark abyss and somehow I knew it had no end, that I would continue to fall for a thousand eternities, until time itself came to an end, and that nothing or no one could save me from my fate._

  
I awoke in terror, feeling as though shards of ice were buried under my skin, digging into my nerves. For a moment of dread I felt as though I was still falling into that black pit, the sensation of air rushing by my face, my stomach reeling as though it was about to jump from my throat. But when I hit the floor with a painful thud, my senses were violently thrown back into reality and after a moment of blind, clawing panic I realised I had been asleep on the sofa and had fallen onto the floor.

  
As the initial panic began to fade, my lungs felt painfully tight, and trying to calm my breathing I inhaled long, deep breathes that came out in ragged gasps. Slowly my gaze travelled over the room, taking in the familiar place basked in the cold glow of afternoon light. The fire had died down to glowing embers and black ash, but I couldn't find the energy to stand up and relight it. For a while I just lay on the hard floor, shivering and sweating as the terror from my nightmare gradually faded from my mind.

  
I only moved when the cold began to creep into my blood like ice, and I remembered something Mink had told me before about always keeping the fire going during winter. With trembling arms I pushed myself to my feet, ankle stiff and sore as I shuffled over to the fireplace. I couldn't remember what to do, so hesitantly I grabbed the iron poker from where it stood on a metal rack and prodded at the ash and charred logs, hoping it would allow oxygen to rush in and relight it.

  
When nothing happened, I frowned, trying to recall what Mink did. Next to the grate there was usually a small stack of logs, but they must have all been used up because I couldn't find them. With an irritated sigh I continued to poke around the charcoal and cinders, hoping something would happen.   
"You're doing it wrong, Aoba,"

  
I jumped at the sound of a voice, at first thinking it was Mink that had spoken, but when my gaze darted around the room, it was empty.

  
"You're always doing everything wrong," after a few moments I heard them speak again, and it felt as though the sound was creeping into every corner of my mind, rushing through my head like a surge of water. I felt fear grip my chest, my heart beginning to race, and I swung my eyes around the room. "Whose there!?" I demanded.

  
Something cold touched the back of my neck, an icy breathe, and dread shot through my veins. "I am," he said. The voice was louder now, and oddly familiar as it trailed through my mind, but I couldn't place it.

  
Numbly, I turned around, but all that stood behind me was the fireplace, empty and blackened. I felt my legs give way beneath me as though all the strength had suddenly been depleted from them in one sweep, and I fell onto my hands and knees, trembling. It took me a moment to realise that my hands were buried in the hot ash from the fire place, my palms already beginning to burn, and with a cry of pain I pulled them away, shaking as I looked them over.

  
My palms were stinging and red, already beginning to blister and swell. I knew I should soak them under cold water as soon as possible, but I felt as though every ounce of energy had been drained from my body and I couldn't find the strength to even stand. So I sat, shaking and sobbing as the burning pain spread throughout my hands as I recalled my most recent dreams of a world on fire.


	6. Ashes to Ashes

My hands hurt. It was the first thing that registered in my dazed head when I forced myself to come back to my senses. It was as though thousands of hot needles were jammed into every pore from my wrists to my fingertips, especially concentrated on my palms. I managed to raise myself onto my feet, and quickly darted toward the kitchen sink, ignoring the dull ache in my injured leg.

I bathed my hands in cold water for at least five minutes, but seconds after I removed them the pain flared up again, like my hands were wrapped in gloves of fire, and immediately I put them back into the water, watching as the sudden displacement caused some of it to spill over the edge of the sink and slop onto the floor at my feet.

I hadn't really examined the burns on my skin and I didn't want, but I could tell just by the pain alone that they were more than superficial. I was only exposed to the heat of the fire for a few seconds, but that was more than enough to scorch the first few layers of flesh, Virus and Trip had taught me that. I shivered at the thought of them, and stared into the water, watching the ripples undulate around my wrists, staring at my shaky, distorted reflection.

It was when I saw my eyes, disfigured and broken by the slow rise and fall of the water as it settled, that I felt something wasn't right. They looked lighter, not their usual hazel, but somehow golden yellow, almost glowing. A strong, instinctive pang of fear suddenly bolted through my gut, although I had no idea why, and seconds later an intense pain ran through my head, like fingernails raking into my brain.

The edges of my vision darkened with veins of red and black as though ink was bleeding into the corners of my eyes, and the pain pulsed from the front of my head all the way to the base of my neck, as though something was trying to hatch from my skull, chipping away at the bone like it was the shell of an egg. I felt all the strength drain from my body, and before I could even register what was going on, I had crumpled onto the floor.

Ignoring the pain in my hands as clutched the side of my head, palms pressing into my temples, I tried not to scream, but I'm sure a cry of fear and agony left my lips, although all the sound seemed distant and drowned out, as though my head was submerged in water.

That voice from before echoed through my head, and even though I couldn't understand the words, just for a brief, flickering moment I remember who, _what_ , he was, before I fell into darkness.

_At first I was floating in a world of endless black, as though all the stars had fallen from the sky, leaving nothing but darkness in their absence. I couldn't tell where I was, which way was up, which way was down, left, right. There was just nothing, and I was part of that nothing, drowned in it, consumed by it, just drifting through it aimlessly._  
_And then I heard a sharp metallic jingle, the sound rippling through the world of nothing, shattering it like bullets through glass. There was a harsh tug on my wrist, and my eyes flew open, fear lancing through me like a dagger to the chest. I could feel the cold metal of chains, clamped around my wrists now, heavy and painful, the skin beneath chafed._

_The world of nothing suddenly became something, the sight of a room swimming into view as my eyes adjusted to the light flooding into them, watering slightly at the sharp sting. "Wake up Aoba," Virus said, his voice hissing like a snake as it crawled down my ear._  
_"Time to play," Trip spoke in an almost sing song voice, taking delight in my terror_

_'How dare you just lie there?' that voice in my head spoke up and I winced at a pain that lanced through my skull. 'Fight them,' it said, as they clamped more chains around my limbs, the shackles digging into my skin._  
_'Fight back!' he cried, again and again, over and over, like a record on repeat, until it had seeped into every corner of my head, those words carving themselves upon my mind like letters engraved upon a tombstone. I shook my head, and Virus glanced down at me, raising an eyebrow in suspicion. "What's the matter, Aoba?" he asked, the look in his cold blue eyes making me suppress a shiver._

_I shook my head again. "Nothing," I whimpered._

_'Liar,' the voice said. I closed my eyes tightly. "Nothing," I repeated, my voice coming out in barely a whisper._

_When I opened my eyes once more, the world was blindingly bright, like I was staring directly at the sun. But it wasn't a warm light like the sun's, I couldn't feel any heat coming off of it. It was cold and white, remote like a distant star blinking in the night sky. It pierced my gaze with its radiance, and quickly I shut my eyes, the backs of my eyelids scorched._

_A loud shattering sound slashed through my head, like a glass bottle breaking in my ears, and I opened my eyes once more, my entire body jolting._

_And I was staring at myself in that mirror again, my face falling away like shattered pieces of china. A broken doll, empty on the inside._

_But where my skin had completely came off around my eye, leaving a gaping black hole, I saw a glowing light. A yellow gold colour, like the sun high in the sky peering through the darkness, slowly swimming into focus. Soon that glowing orb transformed into an eye, veins of dark gold running through it, the pupil small and black as they stared at me. It was my eye, but it wasn't. It was the same size and shape, but not the same pale hazel colour, and it was filled with a feral animosity, a deep, burning hatred._

_'Fight back,' that voice got louder and louder, the eye got brighter and brighter, and once all my skin had crumbled and fell, like a marble statue being smashed into fine powder, a new me emerged from the shattered remains. My hair was matted with blood, it ran down my face like war paint, twisted over my body like red ribbons, almost glowing against my pale skin. It was me, but it wasn't. There was something dark and unfamiliar about my reflection, something that made my stomach tie itself in knots and all the hairs on my body shoot up as though sparks danced across my skin._

_'Who are you?' I tried to ask, but my lips wouldn't move. It was as though some force had turned my body to stone, binding me in place for all eternity like a statue. I could no longer move, the weight of my limbs seemed colossal, like they were chained to the floor. My heart raced, a muffled drum beat in my ear, and all the thoughts seemed to stop in my mind dead still like jammed cogs coming to a sudden and violent halt._

_'I am you," the voice said. But this time he was speaking aloud, with my voice, through my mouth. 'And you are me,'_

 

* * *

 

 He could see his hands tremble before him, dripping wet, long slender fingers reddened and already beginning to blister, the skin of his palms painful and ragged. He couldn't feel it though, because he wasn't fully in control. He was pushing through the hazy fog of darkness and chaos, trying to reach for that light, to break through the surface, but every time he got close the madness dragged him under, like the pull of a rushing river carrying him away, and he drowned once more in that current.

 

* * *

 

As soon as Mink closed the door behind him with a rattled thud, shutting off the torrents of heavy snow and harsh wind, he knew something was wrong. He couldn't quite explain it, but a dull fear pressed against his chest, and the hairs on the back of his neck rose with a static pull. His first instinct told him he had to find Aoba, immediately, and with a pang he felt a distant feeling from long ago rise up like a sudden wave in his chest.

He could see that he wasn't on the sofa where he had last been, and there was a smudge of dark ash on the floor in front of the fire place, in the deformed shape of a small, slender hand...

"Aoba?" he called, panic pushing through him like water in his lungs. When there was no reply, he checked his room to see if he was asleep, but as he swung the door open, weak afternoon light flooding through the large window in white rays, he saw the small bed was empty and still neatly made, clearly untouched since this morning.

There was a still, pressing silence in the air, and as he inhaled, trying to calm himself, he heard the distant sound of water rushing from a tap, like pouring rain. At first he thought it was coming from the bathroom, but as he made his way through the house, he realised the sound was coming from the kitchen.

When he swung the door open, at first he thought the room was empty. The curtains were closed and the lights turned off, which was odd, and it obscured the kitchen in dark grey. He could just see the glint of tap water running, overflowing over the edges of the sink and spilling onto the wooden floor.  
When he rushed forward to turn it off, he heard a small, shivering groan and stopped in his tracks.

"Mink...is that you?" Aoba sounded like he was in pain, his voice weak and strained. Mink turned and saw him in the corner, his small form curled in on itself, looking like a pile of rags in the dark. "Aoba? What's wrong?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady despite the fear that clawed up his throat.

"My head...there's something..." he moaned, taking a deep breathe. "It hurts. I think I'm dying."

"Shit," Mink muttered, quickly turning off the running tap and carefully treading through the growing puddle on the floor as he made his way to Aoba, trailing wet boot prints behind him. It was only a matter of time before Aoba suffered from one of his migraines, which were caused by Scrap, and Mink only had standard painkillers, none of the special medication his grandmother had formulated for him.

"Help...me," the other man said as Mink knelt before him. But Mink felt helplessness tug at his heart. There was nothing he could for Aoba, who didn't even know what was causing this pain or why.

His face was buried into his knees and he was trembling, hands curled into his messy blue hair. "Why?" he asked quietly. Mink wasn't sure who or what the question was directed at, but for a moment his mind was thrown back to the night he had found Aoba, lying in a cold, shivering heap in the snow. He had asked the same thing when he had lifted his small body up into his arms 'Why?'

He wasn't sure why he was reminded of that now. Maybe it was the vulnerability and fear etched into his tone, the weakness in his voice. And then, just like before, his body seemed to go limp, like a machine suddenly grinding to a halt, and he slid sideways against the unit, Mink only catching him a moment before he crashed into the floor.  
Carefully, he lifted him and carried him to the living room, placing him on the sofa and draping a soft, woollen blanket over his small, shivering form. And then he swept up the ash, stoked the fire and set to work mopping up the puddle on the kitchen floor, before taking a seat on the floor by Aoba's side and pressing the back of his hand to his forehead.

He didn't seem to have an abnormally high temperature, and yet dampness had formed on the skin of his face and his eyes seemed to be rapidly moving beneath his lids, his throat strained and convulsing as he let out soft whimpers in his sleep. It was only when he shifted beneath the sheet, causing it to fall away from his upper body, that Mink noticed his hands didn't look right.

Aoba's palms were scorched red and blistered, appearing slick and wet in some areas, and some of his skin seemed to be ragged and peeling. Without even thinking, Mink rushed to the kitchen, filling a basin with cold water and grabbing a cloth as he made his way back through. He was used to treating injuries like this, either on himself or others, and as a habit from his past, those days where he still planned vengeance on Toue, he always kept an extensive medical kit in his house, although this was the first time he'd ever had to use it since he left Japan.

Carefully, as though handling a delicate antique, he wiped down the wounds with a damp cloth, making sure they were clean and then grabbing the pack from the bathroom cupboard, where it sat gathering dust, he knelt down next to Aoba once more and gently coated the burns in a layer of antibiotic cream, letting it soak into his skin for a while before applying bandages, taking care as he wrapped them around those small hands, completely covering his palms and knuckles in several layers.

Aoba stirred a few times during the process, letting out distressed groans, but didn't wake at all, but Mink suspected when he did he would probably have to get him to take some strong painkillers. And those weren't the kind of burns that would heal quickly either, he probably wouldn't be able to use his hands properly for at least a couple of weeks.

Mink let out a constrained sigh, staring at the sleeping man before him. His skin was still glistening with sweat, and his blue hair clung to his face in mangled clumps like seaweed, and his skin was so pale, almost translucent, the web of small blue veins beneath visible around his eyes and temples. Every now and then he would shift and groan, sounding somewhat distressed. Mink thought he was probably having another nightmare as he so often did, and without really thinking about it, he reached a hand forward and lightly began stroking his hair, the damp clumps soft between his fingers.

"What's going on with you?" he murmured to himself, feeling a worry choke at his lungs, a sorrow pressing itself into the pit of his stomach. He lowered his hand, pressing it to Aoba's face. His skin was hot and sweaty, cheeks flushed red, and he twitched slightly, making a small sound in the back of his throat.

And then, after a few moments, he seemed to push himself against Mink's palm, like he was seeking that warmth, finding comfort in it, and gradually he began to calm down, his tormented expression going slack and his mouth closing with an almost relieved sigh.


	7. The Promise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry updates have slowed down T_T have a lot going on lately. Thank you so much for your patience and continued support!

When I awoke next, it was a slow and gradual process, as though I was dragging myself through a heavy fog. A weight pressed into my bones like a blanket of lead, and my vision refused to focus, the world around me just blurred smudges of colour and movement with no refined edges. After a few minutes, I knew I should have been worried, but an overwhelming exhaustion still lingered over me, and I couldn't bring myself to care.

I closed my eyes, only meaning to blink, but for some reason the heavy lids refused to open back up, as though sewn shut, and I found myself slipping back into sleep, almost comfortably, as though I was floating on the surface of a gentle ocean, being rocked like a baby in the slow waves.

"Aoba," I heard a voice say my name, soft and distant. Something warm touched the skin of my face, just a light, hesitant touch, and once again I opened my eyes. I was faced with a blur of gold, almost as though I was staring into the sun, and then in a swirl it shifted into shades of brown, my tired gaze unable to follow the movement. 

"How's your head?" a voice asked, and for a moment my mind stumbled over the question that made no sense. "My head...?" I repeated, with a vague sense of bewilderement. "Did I hit it?" 

I heard a small, incomprehensible grunt in response, and felt a warm handle gently brush my forhead. "Is it still sore?" he asked, ignoring my question. 

"No," I mumbled in response. I was only vaguely aware of where I was and who I was talking to, but all the details seemed blurred and mixed up, like my memories had been stirred around in my head and were still trying to settle back into place. I knew this place and I knew that voice, but I just couldn't think about it right now.

"Good," he responded. "Just try and rest, Aoba,"

I decided that was a good idea, and let my eyes close, ignoring the incomprehensible jumble of thoughts racing through my head as I slipped back into sleep.

I wasn't sure how much time had passed when I awoke again, staring at the all too familiar fire place, orange flames fluttering like the wings of a bird behind the bars of the grate. My head hurt, a dull ache pounding through my skull, and although it was bearable I still wanted it to stop. 

"Mink," I called out, my voice weak and scratchy as though my throat was clogged up with thorns.

I heard hurried footsteps and the creak of floorboards. "You're finally awake," his voice sounded a little surprised, although anyone who didn't know him wouldn't have been able to tell. It was just a slight, subtle shift from his usual impassive tone, a raise at the end of his sentence. 

"How long was I out?" I asked, slowly struggling to push myself into a sitting position, feeling so stiff I could almost imagine my joints cracking as though they were frozen in place. My hands stung a little, and with a dim revelation I realised that I had burned them, although the memory seemed almost dream like and surreal.

"Pretty much all day," Mink replied. "It's well past dinner time," he said, kneeling before me. His gaze studied my face intently, his golden eyes sharp and keen like a hawk's. "How are you feeling?" he finally asked, gently pressing the back of his hand to my forhead, his fingers cool and soothing between my sweaty hair and damp skin. 

"Uhm..." My voice choked out nervously, and suddenly I was acutely aware of how close his face was to mine, and how I could feel the faint blow of his warm breathe on my skin. I suppressed a shiver, swallowing the lump in my throat. "My head hurts. Hell, everything hurts," I said with an anxious chuckle. I hoped maybe it would make him smile, but instead his face drew into a serious frown, and he lowered his hand to mine, lightly tracing the bandages with his fingers.

"Do your hands hurt?" he asked.

I nodded. My palms still stung, but the pain wasn't unbearable. He stopped moving his fingers. "Do you know what happened?" he asked, his voice low and somewhat shaky.

"I dunno..." I mumbled, still trying to put the mess of memories together in my foggy head. Everything in my recollection was chaotic, displaced, like an abstract painting. I could vaguely recall what had happened and yet none of it seemed to make the slightest bit of sense. "It's all so insane, I can't really make any sense of it," I said after a moment of thought.

Mink shook his head, and when he looked at me once more he looked so tired, his face drained of colour, dark patches like smudges of charcoal beneath his eyes, hair falling limply over his face in a tangled mess. He sighed. "I'm just worried about you," he eventually admitted, "You seemed pretty fucked up." 

"It was pretty fucked up," I said, "But everything has been fucked up for as long as I can remember. You're the only thing in my life that isn't fucked up," I didn't really know exactly what I was saying anymore. My head hurt, a persistent ache as familiar as the beating of my heart, and my body felt drained, as though my bones had turned to liquid beneath my skin.

With a slow and careful movement, Mink leaned forward and pressed his lips against my forhead. It was a soft, warm sensation, and instinctively my eyes seemed to flicker shut and I let out a quiet sigh, feeling myself relax. His lips moved down, with gentle grazing kisses, until they were so close to mine I could almost steal away his breathe. He stopped there, his golden eyes unsteady as they met mine, his lips pursed in a tight line. 

I wanted to say something, anything to break through the unbearable intensity like static in the air around us, but my mind seemed to have come to a halt, like the gears in my head had stopped turning, jammed in place, so instead I closed the distance between us and kissed him.

It was just a fleeting kiss, a brief touch, a moment of softness and warmth, but that was all it took. I hadn't even pulled away, but his mouth pursued mine with such urgency that our lips practically collided back together

My body seemed to move naturally of its own accord, like some external force was guiding me, and I raised my arms up and looped them around his neck, my hands curling into his long brown hair. My palms still stung beneath the bandages, the pain flaring up as I moved my fingers, scrunching his hair up on the back of his head, but I didn't care. There was no room in my mind to register it, the only thing I could think of was how his lips felt against mine, hot and burning like flames, warm and soft like the sun, and how his hands felt on my body, gently holding me, caressing my sides with the care and restraint someone might use when picking a flower.

I closed my eyes tightly, and honestly I was too afraid to open them. I felt like I was floating through a perfect, dreamy haze and I was scared if I opened my eyes I would wake up and none of it would be real anymore. 

He broke away for a moment, leaning down even further, his knees on the floor so he was level with me, and pushed himself forward, forcing me to lean into the soft back of the couch "Aoba..." he said hoarsely, pressing his lips into my jaw. His warm breathe made me shudder. "Mink," I whispered, curling my fingers through his hair.

For some reason it felt so right like this, like somehow this was where I belonged. I didn't know this man like he knew me, I had barely any real memories of him, but some emotion deep inside of me clicked, like a puzzle piece falling into a place, and I knew that one way or another this is how it was meant to be. 

Mink always seemed so calm and composed, someone who never got flustered, his stony face never revealing more than he wanted to. But as his hot hands slipped under my shirt, his breathe seemed to shake a little, and just for a moment his ever burning eyes wavered, like the flickering of a dying candle. At the same time I felt myself tense up, suddenly unsure of how far I wanted to go, how much of my body I wanted his hands to feel, his eyes to see. Virus and Trip were still engraved in the back of my mind, and the scars they had inflicted upon me were still etched into my skin. That would never go away. He didn't know about them. Maybe if this was how things were going to be, he deserved to know.

His hands came out from under my shirt, and abruptly he straightened himself up and turned away from me.

"I'm sorry," he said, without even a glance back at me. "I shouldn't have done anything."

"Mink," I called after him as he began to walk away, and when he stopped I could heard him draw in a deep breathe. My nerves seemed to twist tightly with anxiety, and I regretted opening my mouth. I should have kept quiet and let him leave, because I had no idea what to say next. 

He obviously cared about me deeply, and I knew I cared for him too. He deserved some answers, some closure. I wasn't sure how to talk about it. I wasn't sure if I could tell him without falling apart. I wasn't sure how he would react, what he would do.

I inhaled deeply, trying to calm my shaking nerves and stormy mind. "Please, come back. I need to tell you some stuff..." 

He glanced back at me over his shoulder, then lowered his gaze to the floor. "What?" he asked.

"Please, just come and sit down," I said. Cautiously, he walked back toward me, his eyes watching me the entire time, and sat on the couch, leaving a noticable gap between us. I awkwardly looked down at my legs and let out a small sigh before I spoke.

I began explaining to him, first that my only clear memory, although dim as it may be, was waking up in some sort of vehicle with Virus and Trip. And then I was in a house, chained up on the floor, my body naked and sore all over. It was difficult to choke the words out as I told him how terrified I was the first time they had raped me, and how they took turns with me every day, treating me like a plaything. And how I stopped fighting back and eventually the fear faded, and I forced myself to find pleasure in order to run away from the pain. And eventually I stopped feeling all together. I was numb and empty. By then they didn't keep me chained up anymore. I was allowed to roam the house freely. But I wasn't allowed outside. One time they had both left together, but Virus came back to get something and as he was searching for it in his bedroom I walked out of the front door. I had no desire to escape, to make a break for my freedom, I had just recalled a strange urge to feel sunlight on my skin. 

But Trip dragged me back inside and locked me in his room, and when they got back he beat my legs with a cane until they were so bruised and bloody I couldn't walk for a week, and he swore if I ever did it again he'd put a hammer to my knee caps so that I could never walk again. The pain had been so unbearable I almost passed out several times during the beating, and when he was done I had thrown up until there was nothing left in my stomach. After that had I sworn to him that I'd never go outside again.

Virus had sat and watched the entire time, his cool gaze regarding me indifferently, his long fingers curled around a large wine glass as usual. If somewhere deep inside me I could have gathered up the will to hate, I would have sworn to kill them both for it at the time.

After that I told Mink about how I eventually got away. There was a voice inside my head. I didn't know who he was at first, but eventually I realised he was another part of me. He was angry at me for letting them do this to me. He had said it was no fun anymore, and he wanted me to fight back. He had said if I was too scared to, he'd take over my body and do it for me. I told him it was useless, that I had become so weak I wasn't capable of lifting a finger against them. He wouldn't listen. I kept telling him to shut up, that I was better off just obeying them until the day I died, because the torture they would put me through would be worse than death. "But it's boring now." he had protested, again and again. "You've let them do this to you. It's pathetic. You're pathetic" he had sounded bitter and angry. I didn't blame him.

We argued a lot like that, but talking to him made me start to feel again. I felt like I was no longer dead inside, the numbness that had frozen me for so long eventually lifted, like fog clearing away. My emotions returned, filling the empty void that had rendered me lifeless.

And one day, they left the door unlocked. He told me to go outside. I remembered the beating I was given the last time, but for some reason I found the courage to open the door and step out. My body trembled so much at first I thought I was going to be sick. My legs had felt so hollow I could barely stay up right, and the bottom of my stomach had burned as though filled with fire.

I was dazed at first, by the brightness of the sun pricking into my eyes like needle points and the sky that looked so big and endless and blue I thought it would come crashing down upon me and crush me. I stood motionless for a few moments, until the voice in my head had cried at me to run. In the distance there was a forest, thousands of trees stretching across my view in a sheet of green, and behind them, soft, rolling hills that spanned the horizon. It had been my first proper view of the outside world in so long, that every detail was burned into my mind, still as clear and vivid as it had been on that day. A flock of small black birds scattered in the sky, a dark grey cloud clinging onto the horizon, the sweet scent of grass and flowers, the feeling of sunlight kissing my skin.

By the time I got to the end of my explanation, I was shivering so much I could barely talk anymore, and my words choked out from my lips in a garbled mess. Tears dripped down my face, the salt water stinging my lips. Reliving those moments of terror had been so hard, and I was sure Mink thought I was crazy. I was too scared to look at him, I couldn't even glance in his direction. I didn't know if or how he was looking at me. What face would he make when thought of me? How would he see me now? As some broken mess, some shattered china doll that could never be pieced back together. I realised that's all I was, all I would ever be. A broken mess of a man who was too weak to resist his torturers, with no memories of who he really was. How could Mink even bare to hold and kiss someone as worthless as me?

But when he finally spoke, his voice was filled only with kindness. "Aoba," he said. Then he was silent for a moment. "I...I had no idea. That's...so fucked up," I expected him to look at me with pity from now on, treat me like I was so fragile I would break at any moment, but when our eyes met I saw only a burning resolve, deep in that sun coloured gaze. "I won't ever let anyone hurt you like that again."

I felt the power and conviction in his words, saw it set like stone on his face, and I pressed myself into him, letting his arms wrap around me like a protective cover as he held me. I was still crying, but as I trembled in his arms I could feel myself calm down a little. This was comfortable, this was safe. This was where I belonged now, not back there with them, but here, in Mink's arms, with his head gently resting on top of mine. "You promise?" I asked, voice muffled against him.

"I promise," he repeated firmly, his hold around me tightening.


	8. It's Like a Disease

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for updates being so slow, had a lot of work to do over the past couple of months and no time to spare on my stories. Should hopefully be more frequent now that it's all over with and out of the way...but I suck at updating anyway.

"You should come with me today," Mink threw the suggestion out casually over breakfast, and I shot him a perplexed glance, an odd, nervous pang shooting through me when our eyes met. After everything that had happened yesterday, I was barely hungry, but I forced myself to take a few bites, which slid down my throat like thick mud, before I gave up.

"To your work?" I asked for confirmation, poking the barely touched omelette on my plate with my fork, loosely held between my sore fingers.

He nodded with a small grunt of affirmation, his eyes watching me closely. "I'm worried about leaving you alone," he said after a moment, his face drawing into a frown. He didn't seem to want to debate the matter, and I was too tired to argue about it, so with reluctance I agreed, nodding stiffly and trying to ease the nerves in the pit of my stomach.

I hadn't managed to sleep well the night before, despite somehow ending up in his bed. It was strange getting used to having someone beside me as I slept. It was a little too warm beneath the covers, a little too stifling when his arms wrapped around me as he pulled me close, his gentle breaths skittering the back of my neck. But it wasn't entirely uncomfortable, and in many ways it was better than being alone at night. Safer, more secure.

But as usual, I slipped in and out of fucked up dreams all night, until the first hint of dawn shone softly through the window, and Mink stirred next to me, carefully unweaving his limbs from my body as he got out of bed and began dressing himself in silence. I dozed for a while after that, but eventually got up and headed back to my room to dress myself, although it was a little cumbersome due to the state of my hands, so what was usually quick and simple became a slow and arduous process, and by the time I was done breakfast was ready.

"It's settled," he said with a small nod. "There's a back room you can stay in, and you can call if you need anything," he assured me, as he stood to clear the plates, aware that I wasn't going to eat any more.

As soon as we stepped outside, the ice cold air bit into my face - the only part of my body that wasn't covered in several layers of clothing - all the way down to the bone, and the view seemed to sweep the breathe from my lungs.

Flakes of snow fell idly from the sky, gently swirling in a slight breeze, but all around us the ground was so soft and pure and white, and the trees were painted an icy silver, glimmering in the early morning sunlight that flickered through the gaps in extraordinay glowing rays. I craned my neck up, catching a glimpse of the sky through the white branches that entwined above us like long, interlaced fingers. It was so clear and cold and blue, with a hint of violet, such a striking colour, yet somehow peaceful and calming, like it was seeping into me, making me feel new and fresh and clean. "It's so beautiful," I muttered absently, a flake of snow softly landing on my cheek. I hadn't been outside in so long, and it felt almost overwhelming, like the world was staring back to me.

Mink only grunted in response, and whether he agreed or not would probably forever remain a mystery. But in a way I liked that aspect of him. He didn't usually convey his thoughts and feelings of me or the world around him, either verbally or with body language. He was about as readable as a closed book whose pages had been glued together. But when he did open up, I felt like I was getting a rare glimpse into something dark and mysterious, something that only I could ever see, and it felt all the more special to me.

He trudged through the few inches of snow, leaving a trail behind him, which I followed with slow and careful steps, around to the back of the house. I was somewhat surprised to see a car parked there, a large black land rover, blanketed with ice, the wind shield frosted over. I'd never heard a car engine running before when he'd left. "I didn't know you had a car," I said as he scraped the ice from the front window.

"I prefer to walk," he answered. "But that's not easy on a day like this," he said with a sweeping gesture, a frown etched onto his face. "Fucking snow," he muttered under his breathe. I let slip a giggle, amused by his frustrated cursing. It was the first time I had laughed in so long, and it honestly surprised me. I hadn't thought I was still capable of laughter, so when I started I struggled to stop, it just came pouring forth in waves. When he glared at me, it only made me worse, and I just about doubled over, my lungs aching from being used so much. Then the hint of a smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. "Get in the damn car," he said with a slight shake of his head.

Twenty minutes later, we were pulling up outside a small shop that seemed to be situated not far from the town center, after driving carefully through narrow winding roads, packed tightly with cramped buildings and houses, most of which looked like they had seen far better days.

The building seemed to be made from dark, almost black wood, and had a strange traditional western look, almost like something from an old fashioned American movie. I tried to make sense of the bright, bold lettering on the sign that was painted over the main entrance, but the words were unfamiliar to me, my understanding of English clearly not as good as I thought. The alphabet was a lot more basic than Japanese, the characters more like simple shapes rather than complex lines, but I still found myself struggling to recognise them all, and I was a lot better at actually speaking and listening than reading and writing, it seemed. I wondered for a moment if it had always been that way, or if this was also another result of my apparent amnesia.

We parked right at the door so there was only a very short distance to walk, and as usual he was directly by my side, so close he need only reach out and catch me if I slipped on the ice. Fortunately, I didn't, and as we got inside and he closed the door behind us, I felt myself jolt in shock at a loud, ringing chime. Mink's hand gently touched the small of my back. "It's fine," he said with quiet reassurance. "It's just the door,"  
I let out a small, nervous chuckle, still feeling a little on edge as he quickly ushered me to the back room.

The lights were still off and the window shutters were down, so the whole shop floor was obscured in a cold dark. I could barely make out what sat in rows upon the shelves or within the glass display cabinets, but I caught a glimpse of a white feathered dreamcatcher, gently swaying like a ghost in the shadows.

Just as Mink was helping me settle into the cushion of a small chair, the door chime rang out again, and despite myself I still started a little, my eyes darting toward the sound, and my nerves seemed to be tightly wound, ready to snap at any moment.

Mink let out a small sigh, and gently brushed my upper arm with warm fingers, pressing his lips to my forhead so briefly I almost didn't register the soft touch . "You're fine," he said, just as a woman's voice called, words echoing through the air that I could barely understand. "I'll be back in a minute," he said, his eyes meeting mine a soft, golden haze, before lowering as he turned away.

When he left the back room, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him, my nerves suddenly flared up tenfold, like eels writhing beneath my skin, and I shivered, pulling my arms around myself and taking deep breathes to try and remain calm. I heard Mink's voice, deep and muffled through the walls, and for a moment I was confused as to why I couldn't begin to fathom a word he was saying. And then I realised he was speaking in English.

It was so strange to hear that for a moment I was taken aback. His voice seemed to rise and fall in a completely different pattern, and even through the walls I could hear it was more naturally suited to his deep tone. With a strange sense of self awareness, I suddenly realised this whole time Mink and I had been conversing solely in Japanese. It was just so natural to me I didn't really bother to think about the fact we were in another country, and that English was more than likely his mother tongue. I felt kind of foolish for the belatec realisation, and with an agitated sigh I began looking around the room.

It was small and cramped, the white paint dirty and cracked, the wooden floorboards beneath me faded and scuffed from what seemed like years of being worn down beneath feet. There was stacks of cardboard boxes, tightly packed against one an other, and crammed into the corner was a small television a top a wooden unit, the screen slightly cracked in the top left corner.

I heard that woman's voice again and I froze, a pang of fear seeming to shoot through me. I couldn't understand what she was saying, but she sounded old, her voice soft but a little worn, like her throat was dry, and moments later the door swung open, and a small, frail woman was staring at me from across the room, her golden eyes bright as they rested upon me.

She was elderly, perhaps in her late sixties, her skin, a shade or two darker than Mink's, weathered and creased with age. Her her was dark grey, almost black, but wisps of silver shot through it, the colour of dark clouds edged with glowing moonlight, and it was pulled up around her head in a neat bun. Her eyes seemed surprisingly alert and young even when she smiled, a warm gentle smile, and the crows feet around them deepened.

She said something, but I couldn't understand her and just stared at her in blank confusion. Mink's voice was low as he responded, and then he addressed me. "She wants to know if you're cold," he explained.

I shook my head. "I'm fine," I said, not really sure who to look at. She seemed to speak to Mink again in low, hushed tones, and then with some urging from him she left the room, her long dark skirt fluttering behind her. He stalked over to me, and kneeled down in front of me, his eyes watching me closely. "She's...a distant relative of mine," he explained, seeming to choose his words with care and precision. "When I came back to America, I had no one. I was alone. But she found me. Helped me build some sort of life. So I work around the shop when I can." 

I wasn't really sure what to say, so I only nodded in response.

"It might get boring back here. The TV is broken, but I'll try and fix it for you later."

"Okay, thank you," I said, with a small smile which he returned. And then his face suddenly became more serious, his gaze hardening. "You will tell me," he said, "If you need anything," his eyes studied me intently, intense and golden like rays of sunlight, and I nodded quickly.

"I'll be fine," I reassured him, although I completely understood his worry after everything that had happened yesterday. It was terrifying for me to be honest, but I can't imagine how it felt on his end, coming back home to me in such an awful state. A barb of guilt shot through my chest, and I had the sudden urge to kiss him.

He must have realised what I was thinking, because he leaned his head forward, almost hesitantly, and kissed me on the lips. A gentle, soothing touch, and then he was gone, the door swinging shut behind him, and once again I was alone.

I heard different, unfamiliar voices throughout the day, the door bell ringing as people came and went, although it didn't seem super busy so Mink came by and spoke to me a few times.

I was worried it would crawl by slowly, but with his regular check ups on me, it wasn't so bad. He even left me a few books and magazines to keep me entertained, although they were all in English and I could only get the general gist of what they were about from the words and pictures.

He brought me lunch and we ate together, but my stomach felt as though it was stirring up with a faint sickness, and I could barely eat more than a few bites. He didn't seem happy about that, but he didn't force me to eat anymore, which was a relief. I remembered times with Virus and Trip when they would force feed me to the point of sickness, and then punish me for it in horrific ways afterwards.

I shivered inwardly at the thought, my stomach turning as though it was filled with poison, and then looked up at Mink, reminding myself that I was safe with him, and slowly the uneasiness that had been rising within me began to fade.

The rest of the day was pretty boring and eventless, and at around four in the afternoon, Mink informed me it was time to head back, and while he was helping me slip my arms into my jacket, he said he needed to stop at a local super market on the way. When we left, the older woman was nowhere to be seen, and as we got into the car, light flakes of snow began drifting down from the sky, twirling in a carefree dance as they were caught up in the breeze.

After only two minutes, the car pulled into a huge parking lot, and at the far end a vast building stood, glass panelling gleaming like sheets of crystal in the sunlight. Compared to the rest of the town, which seemed a little worn down and old, this building had that brand new modern shine, and was extremely out of place, like a smudge of bright colour on a monochrome photograph or something. For a moment I stared at it, feeling an odd sense wash over me, a memory tug at the back of my mind. I felt like I'd been to a place like this before, but I couldn't quite get a clear idea of when or how.

"I hate this place," Mink muttered, and then glanced at me. "You coming in?" he asked. I looked across the white parking lot, the snow littered with footsteps, toward the entrance. It was pretty busy, people gathered in small groups, families rushing to and fro with bags of shopping. "Maybe not," I answered nervously. I could hear voices in the distance, just chatting, but the sound seemed to drill through me and make my stomach twist sickeningly with nerves. "Fine," he grumbled, getting out of the car. "I won't be long," he said as he slammed the door behind him. The loud bang made me jolt with fright, but he didn't seem to notice.

I stared out of the window for a bit, watching the world go by. The purple hue gradually consuming the blue sky, like dye spreading out upon water, as the light of day faded, the trees swaying in the gentle breeze, branches sparkling with ice, a few shoppers hurrying by, even a man walking a small, yapping dog.

For a moment a memory sparked in me, more of the impression of a thought rather than something solid and opaque, and in my minds eye I envisioned large dark eyes and a fluffy wagging tail, but as soon as I tried to pull the image from my thoughts, it seemed to resist me and fade away, and it was gone as soon as it had come. I sighed with frustration, slumping my head forward in defeat. I was too tired for this, my brain was beginning to shut down for the day.

When I raised my head again after a few moments, my neck aching slightly, I saw something so horribly familiar out of the corner of my eye that I had to bite back a scream that threatened to jump from my lips. Slowly I turned my head, dread creeping up my spine, and there he stood, blonde hair spiking up, slim glasses framing his cold blue eyes. Virus. I blinked slowly, hoping it was just my imagination, some image my mind had conjured up before me to frighten the life out of me. But when my vision swam back and he was still there, I felt ice cold terror clench around my heart.

He was stood at the other end of a parking lot, talking into a coil around his wrist, which luckily distracted his eyes from me. For now. I felt my stomach turn as though I'd eaten something sickeningly rotten, and my throat go dry like I'd swallowed sandpaper. I couldn't go back, they couldn't take me back. I'd die in there, I would die in that cold, dark house filled with nightmarish horrors. Suddenly my lungs felt constricted, as though a tight chord had been tangled around them, and my chest ached with a bitter pain, and I was struggling to breathe, to draw in any air. Tremors of fear ran through my body, and I needed to get outside, I needed to be under the sky and feel the cold air around me, in my mouth, my lungs.

Without thinking, I opened the car door, fumbling with the handle, and as soon as I was free I collapsed onto my knees, my trembling legs too weak to support my body. I felt bile rise in the back of my throat, sickly and burning, and tried to push it down and get onto my feet, but my legs felt numb and hollow and I couldn't move. Snow clung to the bottom of my jeans, and I knew I should feel the icy cold seeping through, but I felt nothing. My body was numb all over, and I shivered, my heart racing in my ears, pulsing through my head like a beating drum that drowned out everything else. The ground seemed to ripple and sway before me, like I was watching the world through water running in a river, and distantly I heard someone say my name.

I looked up to see Mink. I hadn't seen or heard him approaching, but he stood over me, his golden eyes meeting mine in a hazy blur. "What's wrong?" he asked, carefully pulling me to my feet. I tried to stand, but my legs were still too shaky to support me, and I fell forward into him, my head pushing against his chest. Hesitantly, he put his arms around me and pulled me closer toward him. "What's wrong?" he repeated, his voice coming out in a breathe against the top of my head. I could feel the warmth of his body, even through his coat, and his heart softly thumping beneath. It's steady rhythm seemed to relax me as it danced along with my own, and after a while I stopped shaking. "I saw him," I muttered, the memory sending a cold pang of fear through my heart, making my chest burn with a sick nauseousness. "I thought I saw Virus..."

I felt his body tense up against me, like his muscles had become stone beneath his skin, his grip around me going tighter as though holding me would somehow protect me. I shook my head, fighting back the tears that seemed to bite at the corners of my eyes. "I want to go home," I mumbled, taking a deep breathe.

"Get in the car," he said. I tried to stand on my own, but my legs were still shaking so much they had become useless, as though they were filled with water. He ended up having to help me into my seat, and then he loaded all his shopping bags into the back of the car while I waited, shivering and alone in the front. When he got into the drivers seat, his face was so tense it was like all the skin had been pulled back over his skull, and he gripped the wheel so hard his knuckles were whitened. "Maybe you imagined him," he said quietly, his tone vaguely doubtful.

"So you think I'm seeing things? That I'm crazy?"

He shook his head and started the car. Of course he thought I was crazy. I told him I'd been kidnapped and tortured, that I'd heard a voice in my head, and he'd been woken by me screaming with terror from nightmares countless times. Maybe I was crazy. But I wasn't seeing things, I know Virus had been standing there. They had found me, tracked me to this little town, and soon they were going to get their claws back into me, take me back to that little house of horrors and play with me until I died. I felt bile creep up my throat, my stomach churned, and my lungs felt as though they were drowned with hot water. "I'm gonna be sick," I muttered. "Oh god, stop the car."

The very second the car skidded to a halt, I swung the door open and leaned my head out, the back of my throat burning as I heaved. There was very little in my stomach, so only acid came up, and I spat it onto the ground as tears streamed down my face. I felt Mink's hand on my back, gently rubbing between my shoulders. "Are you done?" he asked, his voice a soft murmur in my ear.

I nodded. "I think so," I replied, wiping my mouth with my sleeve. My face was now wet with tears, and I closed my eyes, leaning back in the seat as I took a deep, trembling breathe. "I'm done," I muttered, feeling emotionally and psychically drained. I just wanted to curl up somewhere warm and safe, and forget about everything for a while. But nowhere was safe, and the memories I'd rather forget were forever burned into the back of my mind, branded into my heart right now. Although the fear they left me with was always there, lately it seemed more distant, like it was slowly slipping away. But now it was back, and it was real, and it was overwhelming every corner of my mind.

When we got back, Mink had ended up carrying me to the house. My legs were too shaky to walk, and I felt as though all my strength had been depleted, like blood being sucked from my veins. He helped me get to the bathroom, where I had quickly cleaned my teeth and swirled mouthwash around in my mouth to get rid of the bitter taste of vomit, and then we sat together on the sofa in silence as I stared into the flames. Tension seemed to build like a storm between us, and I felt it cut through my chest like winter winds. I wanted to say something, anything, to release this swirling storm from inside me, and without really thinking, I just started pouring out words.

"I can still feet it," I murmured with a shiver, my voice trembling in the air around me. "Everywhere they touched. Inside and out. I feel them. It's like contamination all over my skin. I don't know how you can bare to be near me. I'm a mess and I'm broken and you would be better off without me."

I could feel a weight in my chest as I spoke, like I'd breathed dirt into my lungs, and my hands curled into fists by my sides, shaking as I forced myself to recall the things I'd rather forget.

Mink's gaze seemed to bore into me, daggers of ice that pierced through everything, every layer of skin and muscle and bone, and I wondered if he could see how filthy I was too, rotten down to my very core. If he could see the impurity on my skin that seeped into my soul, the invisible marks in the shapes of hands and fingers, of lips and tongues, that always seemed to burn when I recalled how they'd gotten there. Not one inch of my body was left untainted, and I was scared that by being with him I would infect him with their plague too. I knew it was ridiculous, but no matter how much I washed, I couldn't feel clean, I couldn't shake off the the taint of their touch and the idea of it spreading like some sort of contagious disease.

He was silent for a while, his eyes looking into mine, and when I felt like I was being crushed by the scrutiny of his gaze, I turned away. But his hands were on my face, suddenly forcing me to look at him, and without realising it, I had tightly closed my eyes to avoid his own

"Aoba," his voice was a soft murmur, it gently stirred in my ears. "Look at me," he said.

"No," I replied. His fingers were so warm and steady on my skin, his grip firm but not so strong it was uncomfortable, and I felt his thumb softly trace the edge of my lips. I heard an agitated sigh, a harsh blow of warm air on my face, and then something soft and warm pressed against my lips.

I knew it was him, that he was kissing me, but a flurry of panic still swirled through my chest, and without thinking my eyes shot open, and I tried to pull myself away. But he held me fast, his lips pressing against mine for a few more seconds before he pulled back. "You're not dirty," he said, his voice low. There was a gravity in his tone that startled me, and when our eyes met it was almost overpowering, and I ended up looking down just so I could escape. "You're not contaminated," he continued, one of his hands lowering to run through my hair. It was a gentle touch, in any other situation the stimulation would have relaxed me, but right now I felt helplessly on edge. "And I don't care if you are. I'm far worse than you will ever be. Being near you makes me better. You always...you always made things better," his arms seemed to tremble now, just slightly, and he lowered them to his sides.

"I won't let anyone hurt you, Aoba. I promised you that, and I meant it," he murmured. "So in return, can you promise me you won't say anything like that anymore?" I only nodded in silence, placing a hand on top of his. My fingers were so small and pale, covered in scars and wrapped in bandages, and they looked almost skeletal compared to his, the hands of some un dead creature, but for some reason, I didn't feel quite so rotten and filthy anymore.


	9. Monsters and Ghosts

For a while we sat in silence by the fire, before Mink stood up and proclaimed he better start preparing dinner. So I sat on the sofa alone, watching the flames across from me dance in the fireplace, and I thought about everything, over and over, round and round until my mind was racing and dizzying and confused, and I could no longer make sense of what was right anymore.

I was scared, for many reasons. If my eyes hadn't deceived me, then it meant Virus and Trip had somehow tracked me down. And if I'd imagined him standing there, it meant I was starting to see things, that I couldn't tell the difference between reality and fantasy anymore. How long before I descended into the shadowy bog of complete madness? What if it was already swallowing me?

And then there was that voice inside my head too, the one that had spoken to me and the intense, crippling headache I'd experienced. And the awful dreams I'd been having, of my body falling apart and a new 'me' emerging from the remains. The dreams of a world on fire, of everything around me burning, of falling forever into darkness, of being chained up again with those two monsters who wore the skin of men.

I didn't want to think about it all. It made me feel like my chest was being crushed, the air pressed from my lungs by a heavy weight. But I knew, even if I ran away from it, that somehow it all meant something. Maybe it was to do with my past, who I really was, or something that had happened to me. But it was scary to think about, it felt like a darkness was enclosing upon my mind, a fuzziness wavering through my head, and I couldn't piece it all together, couldn't even think about it without feeling a sickness churn like acid in my stomach.

I took a deep breathe, trying to push it all to the back of my head. It would be better to talk it through with Mink, to see if he could make any sense of it, since he probably knew more about myself than I did. But since he was busy preparing dinner right now, I decided to run myself a bath, hoping it would help me relax and take my mind off of things, and try and work up the courage to question him later. I informed Mink, who was busy cutting up something in the kitchen, and he told me dinner would be ready in about an hour anyway, so I had time. He carefully assisted me in removing my bandages too, but I rejected his offer for further help with undressing and getting into the tub. Even though he'd helped with it before, it was still an awkward experience that I would rather not go through again.

When I dipped myself into the hot water ten minutes later, the wound on my ankle stinging slightly, I tried not to be repulsed by my own body. But the image of Virus from earlier, standing out in the cold and talking into his coil, flashed in my mind, and I could feel those cold blue eyes pierce into my skin like daggers, even though he hadn't looked my way at all. I could still feel his hands on my body, still feel his lips on my flesh and his voice in my ears, telling me how much he loved me.

  
It made me felt dirty, despite what Mink had said to me. It was like mud was clinging to my skin, like something dark and impure had rooted itself inside me. Nothing he did to me was out of love. I doubted he even knew what love was. A bitterness swelled in my chest, and for some reason I could feel my eyes sting with the threat of tears. I hated this. This fear that seemed to bind me, like chains wrapped around my heart, this self disgust, self loathing that trapped me, like the cold metal bars of a prison cell. And this cold, raw terror that seemed to take over my body through my veins at the thought of going back to them.

I needed to wash it all away, to scrub and scrub and scrub away at it until I could no longer feel anything. But as soon as my hands touched the hot water, a pain flared up like needles weaving through the tender skin, and I suppressed a yelp, instead drawing in a sharp breath. I had forgotten just how badly burned they were. The skin of my palms was ragged and uneven, like torn paper, painted a deep shade of red, with pale, blistering patches, and every time I bent my fingers, the pain seemed to intensify tenfold.  
In the end I could only dip my fingers in the water before it became too sore, and decided I'd wash my hands in cold water at the sink later.

It was frustrating. I couldn't properly scrub my body, so I still didn't feel clean of their touch. They had engraved themselves inside me, burned their presence into my body and mind, so maybe no amount of hot water and soap bubbles and endless scrubbing could ever wash that away anyway. I felt hopeless despair seep through me, like poison in my chest. I thought I was always going to be imprisoned by them.

Tears streamed down my face and I closed my eyes, leaning back against the tub, and my lungs felt heavy when I tried to breath, like the air around me was thick with mud. There was no point torturing myself with all of this. Mink promised he would keep me safe, and I knew he would stand by his word faithfully. I tried to remind myself of that, in the hopes it would calm me down, and my brows furrowed as a drained sigh escaped my lips.

I suddenly felt tired in more ways than one. It was as though all the gears in my head had stopped turning, my numb mind unable to think or focus anymore as the shock of everything sunk in. And my body felt as though it had been hollowed out, cut and carved and drained of life and energy. I felt my eyes close before I could stop them, and just for a brief moment I was shifting on the edge of sleep, my mind in that strange between world where reality turned into an abstract painting of words and colours and shapes that made no sense, yet made perfect sense.

I jolted, the bath water rippling around my body, when the sound of a laughing voice seemed to echo through my head. A sharp pain tore through my skull like the edge of a blade, and I winced, red streaks dancing across my vision. Through the haze of steam I could see a bloody, distorted reflection of myself, like a ghost dancing in the mist. He stared back at me with wide and unforgiving eyes, merciless and bright yellow like torches searching for something lost in the dark.

I closed my eyes tightly for a few seconds, a burst of red flickering behind my eyelids, and when I opened them again he was gone and the room was empty once more. I inhaled deeply, wiping my face with my the backs of soaking hands, the water warm and slick against my skin. I could feel the droplets running down my cheeks when I got out of the bath and quickly dried myself off with a towel, carefully slipping into the change of clothes I had borrowed from Mink.

As usual they were over sized, the pant legs too long, the shirt hanging off of my slender frame, but by now I was used to it. It was comfortable, it hid my body away under the excessive folds of material, usually making me feel concealed and safe.

But right now I felt nervous, my skin prickling with panic, and I just wanted to get away. As soon as I left the bathroom, a cold chill seemed to swipe through my bones, the muggy heat of the small room fading away behind me. I darted into my room and shoved on a jumper Mink had bought me a few days ago, despite my protests. It was a dark blue colour, made from a thick woolly material that seemed to heat me up and chase away some of the chill from my skin. Then I settled back in front of the fire place to dry off a little, my hair still falling over my shoulders in damp, messy clusters, and the flickering flames gradually banished the cold from my body.

It must have been about five minutes later that Mink came through to check on me, asking if he could take a look at my hands. He carefully examined my wounds, gently dabbing more cream on the ragged skin of my palms before binding them once more, and then took a look at my ankle before also wrapping it in bandages, although it wasn't really sore or swollen anymore, just weak and sometimes stiff. The cut on my side was almost healed too, now just a long, silvery scar, and no longer really caused me any more issues, but he still examined it, carefully raising the material of my clothes, and I felt myself jerk slightly when his fingers touched my bare abdomen, a strange, static feeling running through my nerves.

His eyes snapped up to me, and he asked if it hurt, his brow creasing with concern. I shook my head. "No...I just got a shock?" I answered, not really sure of what else to say. His eyes lowered, and he didn't reply.

We ate together in silence, even though I wanted to talk to him about everything. But his mood seemed as though it had suddenly darkened, and every time I tried to speak, my stomach felt tight and my throat dried up, so in the end I said nothing.

After the plates were cleared, he stalked off and shut himself in his room without a word.

Suddenly, I felt an intense loneliness cut through me like a blade. I wanted to speak to him, but I didn't know what to say. So again, I ended up alone with my thoughts, my mind wandering this time to Mink. His strange, cold moods, his warm, gentle smiles. The careful way in which his hands touched me and held me, in which his mouth spoke to me and kissed me. And sometimes, how he struggled to even look me in the eye...

I didn't want to linger on it, but it was hard not to notice when he would avoid my gaze and shut himself away, especially after showing me such kindness beforehand. I figured he had a lot going on, a lot of complex emotions swirling inside him. He sometimes seemed like he was carrying a lot on his shoulders. Occasionally a heavy air seemed to hang over him, something dark like a black cloud crawling over the horizon, a horrid bruise in the sky.

It seemed to weigh him down, chains bound around his body, an anchor tied to his heart that pulled him into the darkest depths of a world only he could see. He was drowning in his past while trying to stay afloat in the present. I don't know where I'd gotten that impression, but at some point during my time with him I'd felt it, like a fingerprint on my skin, a soft whisper in the back of my mind. But I didn't want to acknowledge it, because I knew somehow it might be related to me, so instead I buried the feeling deep inside and pretended I couldn't see. But that was only making things worse.

I needed to talk to him, and I knew it. We needed to put all of our cards on the table, to talk about what was going on with me, with him. With us. An anxiety clawed at my chest at the thought, and I fought the urge to shrink back into my room, to ignore all this in the hopes it would somehow go away, but I knew the longer I waited, the worse it would get.

With resolve I stood up and made my way toward his bedroom door. At the sudden realisation I had never invited myself  inside of Mink's bedroom before, my heart seemed to bloom into life like a flower blossoming in my chest, and with my hand curled into a trembling fist, I knocked lightly on the door. From the other side I heard the signs of life stirring, a bed creaking, a gruff sigh, foot steps getting closer to where I stood. I fought the urge to back away, a moment of hesitation sweeping through me.

What if he didn't want to see me? What if he left me alone for a reason? Maybe he'd realised how fucked up I am with everything that had happened earlier, and suddenly decided that he wanted nothing to do with me anymore? The doubts slowly began to build, like monsters bubbling up in my head. I tried my best to shake them off, to push them down to the back of my mind. It was too late to turn back now, anyway.

"What?" he asked as he swung the door open, his eyes narrowing on me. I was silent for a moment, trying to arrange my jumbled thoughts together before I spoke. "I...can I come in?" I lowered my head nervously as I spoke, afraid to meet his eyes.

"Why?" he replied, showing no hint of emotion.

"I think we need to talk about some things," I said, unable to directly meet his gaze.

"We can talk here," he said.

"Why are you suddenly acting this way?" I asked, my voice more demanding than I intended. "I mean..." I tried to explain myself, inwardly cursing at how immature I sounded. He raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, so I took that as a sign to continue. "Earlier you were so nice to me...you told me stuff, like how you wanted to protect me, and that I wasn't dirty..." I felt heat rush to my face, as though I was still sitting in front of the open flames, but I continued anyway. "Then suddenly after dinner you started acting weird. I get if you're angry at me for today, and yesterday and everything else even...I know it must be hard to deal with this mess, so if you want me to leave, I will!" I wasn't really sure what I was saying anymore, or if I really meant all of it, but all of my fear and anxiety seemed to be spilling from me in a stream of words, and I couldn't stop speaking until it was all out in the open.

  
He sighed, and looked at me. Really looked at me, his golden eyes boring into me, his face drawn into a frown. I thought he was angry, that I'd said too much, or touched on something that should have been left alone. But then his face slackened, and his eyes wavered slightly. "I'm not angry," he said. "Not at you."

"Then what...?" I asked, taken aback.

I heard Mink let out a heavy sigh, and a large hand gently brushed against my shoulder. "Come," he said quietly, leading me into his bedroom. "Sit," he gestured toward the bed in a stiff motion. The bed springs groaned as he sat himself down next to me, hesitantly resting a hand on my leg. He shook his head slightly, and I could tell he was just as confused as me when our eyes met, his gaze faltering like a flickering light. "It's not your fault" he said, blinking slowly, his voice low.

I could tell he was struggling a lot to with his own personal demons, and I knew the entire situation between us wasn't easy on him either. I'd practically come back from the dead in his eyes, with no memory of our past together and a thousand monsters living inside my head. It was a complicated mess and we were both tangled in it together. I just wanted to know if we would ever find our way out, even if we just stumbled along together, lost and blind as ever. There was so many questions, so much pain and fear and anxiety. But there was also something more, something pure and bright and warm between us, we just had to somehow grasp it, make sense of it.

"I shouldn't be with you," he said quietly, his voice edged with dread.

"What do you mean?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. Those words stung more than I expected, making my heart sink like a stone cast to the bottom of a lake.

"They've already hurt you so much, and I'm just as bad as them," he spat, his hand recoiling from its position on my leg. "I hurt you in the past. A lot."

"And you're scared of hurting me again? Scared those memories will be painful?" I asked, a little taken aback by the gravity of his tone. This was the most he'd ever opened up to me about this sort of stuff, and I finally felt like we were getting somewhere, like I was beginning to chip away at the stone case he'd built around his heart and get a small glimpse of the real Mink that lived beneath. "There's nothing you could do to hurt me that they've not already done a thousand times," I tried to reassure him.

I couldn't imagine what sort of past I had, what the time I'd spent with Mink was like, what sort of person I was or what sort of life I'd led. But I knew Mink, I knew whatever he had done to me could never be as bad as what I'd been through the past year. He wasn't perfect, he was sort of intimidating sometimes, he could be cold and distant, and it was usually impossible to tell what was going on inside his head because his face often didn't convey his true thoughts. But despite his flaws, he wasn't a cruel man. Not in the way Virus and Trip were.

He had a gentle heart, a warm, soft and caring side, a protective instinct, like he was responsible for me. And everything he had been doing these past few weeks, it was all for me. He put me first, always.

He shook his head, and lapsed back into silence, and without really thinking, I reached for him and pulled him into a kiss. He seemed a little surprised for a second or two, but then our lips melded together and his arms laced around me and he pulled me so close I felt the warmth of our bodies become one. "I have no right," he muttered, pulling his lips from mine. "To be with you," his breathe was hot against my face, it sent shivers racing down my spine.

"You do," I replied softly. "You've given me comfort, safety. Hope that I can get better, a life that isn't all misery and pain," I said, drawing him back into the kiss, my lips seeking his with a new found sense of urgency. I had no idea where I'd gained this sudden longing from, where this feeling had bubbled up from inside me, but as soon as I felt it flare within me I knew I had to do this, take advantage of this moment and be honest with him, with myself. "The past, the future," I said, my voice catching as his lips moved down to my jaw. "I-it doesn't matter. I want to be with you right now, in this moment," I wrapped my arms tightly around him, loosely twisting my fingers into his hair.

He kissed me once more, a deep, long, lingering kiss, and I parted my lips, inviting his tongue into my mouth. He accepted with hesitance, but eventually our tongues begin to gently entwine, our lips meeting in desperate pecks. His hands trailed my sides, but didn't venture under my clothes, which I was somewhat grateful for. Perhaps he knew that it was out of my comfort zone, and his touch was soothing and gentle rather than sexual or erotic.

When our lips parted, I gasped in air, feeling as though I was drowning, and he too was taking deep, ragged breathes. He wrapped his arms around me, resting his head on my shoulder, and just for a moment, he seemed almost vulnerable like a lost child, despite his size and tough demeanour. I could feel soft wisps of his hair against my face, tickling the skin of my cheek, and I let out a small sigh.

"There's a lot of shit going on. This whole thing is a mess. But I don't want to lose you," I said quietly, trying to keep the dread from my voice. He lifted his head and looked at me with a faint smile. But there was still a sorrow etched into his golden eyes. They were so expressive that I doubted he could hide it, even if he wanted to.

 

* * *

 

 

"I'll ask again, where did he go?" Virus knelt down before the figure, holding the picture of Aoba in the man's phase to emphasise his question. "If you tell us, I might let you live," he added, the lie slipping through his teeth as easily as sand through fingers. Of course he wouldn't let him live, the vile swine and his friend had outright confessed to attacking Aoba, and with such smug pride as though their actions deserved to be praised.

His tune had changed as soon as Trip stuck a blade through his buddy's throat. And instant and bloody death.

Now the man was trembling on his knees beside the crumpled body of his friend, hands clasped in front of his bowed head as he begged for his life. "I don't know. He ran off!" he cried, dark eyes wavering in terror. He was an ugly man, greying stubble dotted his jaw, his sullen face was beginning to crease with age. The thought of his dirty, calloused hands on Aoba's precious body was enough to fill Virus with a cold rage that crashed upon him so suddenly and intensely he felt it drown out everything else for a moment, like water rushing past his ears.

"Useless!" he spat, smacking the side of his head with such force he flew back onto the ground. He hated losing his composure, and the fact that such a worthless man had made him do so just made the cold rage pour forth with even more force. He clamped a gloved hand around his neck, and pushed down, watching as his dark eyes writhed in terror and the life choked from his body. It had been so long since he took a life, he indulged in watching him struggle in pain and fear, and couldn't help but smile.

"You're certainly in a bad mood," Trip murmured from behind him, as the guy choked out his last, ragged breathe, and then went still, his head lolling to the side. "We've hit a dead end," Virus spat back, looking up at the night sky. It was pitch black, save for the weak light of the moon as it struggled in vain to pierce the clouds, and he couldn't even see one single star. "What if he don't find him," he muttered, realising that despite himself, the thought of losing Aoba made him feel almost empty, a bitterness seeping through his body. He wondered if this was sorrow he was feeling, as he straightened his tie and pushed his mess of blond hair, usually so neatly styled, away from his eyes.


	10. Sly Blue

It was a dream of his past, of a raging inferno that consumed everything in its path, like a hungry beast tearing away at flesh. A sea of blood, stormy red waves that gave rise to screams of terror, swallowed up living people and spat out mutilated corpses. And a moment of stillness and silence, the calm at the very centre of the storm, where the world raged around him but he stood in a place of peace. A pale moon hung above him like a lantern in the night sky, staring down at him with sad, empty eyes, and a hand reached out, gently caressing his face, brushing his hair away with an infinitely delicate touch.

As he opened his eyes, all of his senses began to sharpen, like tendrils slowly unfurling into the world around him, the information slithering back to him at a snail's pace, and he realised the first thing he heard was snow battering against the window, rattling it in its frame, and the soft, steady breathing of the man whose sleeping body was pressed against his.

Next, with a gradual and dull awareness, he felt the warmth of Mink's arms, wrapped around him, hot breathes huffing against the back of his neck. The window frame shook slightly, and he instinctively glanced over. At first it was all just a blur of white movement against the bulk of dark smudges and shifting shapes, not quite enough visual information to make sense of. But as his vision began to focus, he was soon watching flurries of snow battering against the glass, violently blooming into tiny pale flowers before melting away, and he was filled with a sudden urge to go outside and feel the swirling ocean of darkness and ice upon his skin.

  
As expected, the other man's arms were heavy due to his burly size, making it difficult to carefully slip out of his hold, but he eventually wriggled himself free, Mink barely stirring as he climbed out of the bed.

  
His body felt kind of heavy, like his veins were filled with stone, and the edges of his vision were dancing with little fuzzy lights, not quite used to sudden movement yet, it seemed. But that was to be expected, he hadn't been in control for so long, it would take time to get accustomed to this new...accommodation. His 'Reason,' the 'Aoba' that the rest of the world knew, was dormant now, not just sleeping, but his consciousness and thoughts subdued in darkness, swallowed by the pain and guilt of the nightmare he was having.

  
But that fear and madness still lingered, a dark patch in the back of his mind, and he could feel it, eating away at him like poison poured over his thoughts. He sighed, looking down at Mink's sleeping form, just visible through the thick veil of darkness. He was different now, his hair in long, soft waves rather than a tangled mess of dreadlocks, his face somehow less severe, a fragile calmness washing over him as he slept.

  
He knew this new Mink couldn't give him what he wanted, not in the way he would before. But he wanted to see him anyway, and no matter what he had to be held by him, because soon he feared there would be nothing left of him to hold.  
  


It took effort to get to the front door, still not used to being in control of a psychical body. His senses seemed a little dull and shaky, his limbs out of control as though they were faulty, not quite responding to his brain's commands, but eventually he got there. It took a few attempts to actually open the door. His fingers didn't seem to move like he wanted, his grip wasn't tight enough, and he fumbled around before it finally swung open.

  
A cold wind instantly chilled his skin, cutting him so deep it was like blades of ice being run through his body. At the same time, snow whipped against his face, so cold and painful he felt as though it was flaying him alive. It was agonising...and exhilarating. He felt the blood rush through his body, as though had a life of its own, and the excitement bubble up like hot water in his chest. "It hurts," he said quietly, to no one but himself, right before a hand grabbed him and dragged him back into the house.

  
The door was slammed shut, and instantly the world seemed so still and quiet. He felt cold slush roll down his face as the snow melted. "What were you doing, Aoba!?" a voice snapped behind him, and he turned, a bitter laughter escaping from his lips. Mink stared at him, his brow creased in anger before his expression slipped into confusion as the penny dropped.

  
His eyes were glowing yellow with a cold light, and his lips slowly pulled back into a sharp grin as he raised his head, cocking it slightly to the side. The snow flakes clinging to his damp blue hair had already began to melt, and as he stepped closer to the fire, the moving light and shadows seemed to cut his face into intense shapes of orange and blue.

  
Mink wasn't really sure what to do, and just stood, staring in shocked silence. He remembered this side of Aoba, or rather, this other Aoba. Like a demon had crawled into his skin, wearing his flesh as a suit. He looked like Aoba, he sounded like Aoba, but he wasn't Aoba. Not really.

  
'Aoba' spoke first, not breaking eye contact with Mink, as though it was some sort of challenge he was determined to win. "Are you going to stop fucking staring at me?" he spat, his voice overflowing with venom. Mink blinked, taken aback, but didn't look away.

  
"Where is Aoba?" he asked, a cold dread seeping into his gut. Did this mean the Aoba he knew was lost? The thought made his chest feel painful, as though something was lodged in his heart, and he took a deep breathe.

  
"Aoba?" he responded, with fire in his gaze. "I'm Aoba," he let out a bitter chuckle, and eyeing Mink up and down, he narrowed his eyes.  
Mink shook his head. "Leave," he growled. "And return Aoba's soul."

  
The blue haired man inhaled sharply, and then doubled over with laughter. "Aoba's soul!" he cried, "That's fucking hilarious!"

  
Then his eyes snapped back to Mink, and he abruptly fell silent. "I am Aoba," he spat, walking toward Mink. "Did you forget?" he asked, his voice low. "We had so much fun before," he muttered, biting down on his bottom lip. "I want to have fun again," he said with a soft, breathy chuckle, closing the distance between them.

  
His brows furrowed as he looked up at Mink, pale yellow eyes shining. Mink felt the colour drain from his face, like ice poured over his skin, but he couldn't bring himself to look away from Aoba. No, not Aoba, he reminded himself. "You remember?" he asked, shock running like torrents of cold water through his veins.

  
"I do," he said, heat flushing into his face. His eyes lowered, casting soft, blue shadows over his pink cheeks, and in that moment he looked almost bashful, much to Mink's bewilderment. "'Aoba' doesn't, but I do," he murmured, pressing his hand against Mink's chest.

  
His long, slender fingers felt warm, even through the material of his shirt, and Mink felt himself tense up at the sensation, trying to remind himself that this wasn't the real Aoba, the Aoba he knew and cared for, but a monster wearing Aoba's face.

  
He let out a small chuckle and, curling his fingers into the material of Mink's shirt, leaned forward pressed his lips to the bottom of Mink's jawline. Mink froze, feeling the soft wisps of ocean blue hair feather his chin, breathing in the scent, faint and sweet and soapy, feeling the warmth of his body press against him, the rapid beating of his heart in his chest, and he closed his eyes.

  
It's not really Aoba, he reminded himself, over and over in his head. He thought of Aoba, of his small body and gentle gaze. Of his soft voice and softer touch, of the way he trembled and cried as he told Mink everything that had happened to him. The way his lips curled into a hesitant smile when he was happy, as though he was almost afraid to let himself feel happiness, they way they felt against his own, warm and delicate as they shared tender kisses.

  
This harsh, cruel person with cold, predatory eyes, was not Aoba. He wasn't really sure what he was. A harsher, unrefined man, with no kindness, no morals, just a desire for destruction and death, born from Scrap. At first, he had thought this was Aoba's true self, the nature he had buried deep inside his heart, like a body buried in a shallow grave. But he had learned that even the 'real' Aoba wasn't entirely aware of this consciousness at first, and he wasn't sure just how much he knew about it now that most of his memories were gone. He had only mentioned a voice in his head, nothing more. He took in a deep breathe. "Leave," he said firmly, opening his eyes once more and steeling his resolve.

  
"You don't want to?" he asked. At first he looked a little offended, his brows creasing on his head. But then a darkness seemed to flash behind his eyes, and his face twisted into a scowl. "Maybe you would prefer to force me down and fuck me?" he spat the words out as though they were bitter on his tongue.  
Mink's fist clenched tightly by his side, and he felt a barb of guilt tear through him like thorns settling in his gut. "I have no desire for that," he said, through gritted teeth, but before he could step away, Aoba shoved him back. It wasn't really a strong push, his body was still pretty weak after all, but it took him by surprise, and he lost his balance, staggering back and landing on the sofa.

  
A deadly smirk played on his lips as he leaned down over Mink, and for a moment he felt himself swallowed up in those eyes, like they were tearing away at every layer of his skin, peering through the cracks in his bones. They were the eyes of a predator hunting its prey. He knew Mink was helpless, that he wouldn't hurt him, because it would hurt Aoba too, and he was taking full advantage of that. "I'll leave if you fuck me," he said, pressing his lips against Mink's and, digging his fingers into his shoulders enough to cause a shock of pain, he climbed on top of him, straddling his hips.

  
"I'll give you your precious 'Aoba' back if you ruin me like you did before," he said with a quiet chuckle, sliding his hands up toward Mink's neck. Mink took a deep breathe, feeling it catch in the back of his throat. He shook his head stiffly. "I refuse," he said. He knew Aoba wouldn't want this, and he knew this alter ego of his might be lying, that Aoba might already be lost to him.

  
The blue haired man's eyes narrowed, and slowly he moved his face toward Mink's ear "I'll tell you how he lost his mind," there was a sharp grin on his face now the white of his teeth poking out beneath the curl of his lips, and his small fingers pressed against the hollow of Mink's throat, with enough force that he felt a painful pressure seep all the way down to his chest. He let out a small laugh, as though he was thoroughly entertained. "But only if you fucking ruin me."


	11. The Devil and the Darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry updates are so slow! I've started a new job and it's really eating into my free time right now. T_T  
> I will try my best to update as frequently as possible though!

_Stop. I don't want this. It's all I could think, and yet there is nothing I could do to make it stop. It's like my body had gone completely numb, my limbs wouldn't respond to my commands, but instead they moved to someone else's. I watched the world before me, but it's like a movie playing out on a giant screen. I heard my voice, but they're not my words, not my thoughts, not my feelings. I'm like a puppet being dragged along, a passenger in my own body, and all I can do is watch and struggle and hope that it will be over soon._

 

* * *

 

 

 

"You're the same as always," Mink snorted with disgust, glaring up into his pale yellow eyes. They were filled with an odd, almost unhinged light. It was like staring at fragments of shattered glass.

  
The grip around his throat tightened, and soon it became hard to breathe properly, his windpipe being gradually crushed. The blue haired man's eyes narrowed into sharp slits as he pushed down, fingernails curling into tender skin of his neck, like the jaws of a predator clamped around its prey. "This is just payback," he said with a ruthless smile. "You remember, don't you?"

  
Mink felt his chest go cold at the shameful reminder of his hands wrapped around Aoba's small neck. It wasn't that he wanted to forget about his past sins or be forgiven for everything he had done, but somewhere deep down he wished he could lock all of those reprehensible memories away, bury them like bones beneath the dirt. It was a selfish wish, born from his feelings toward Aoba and his desire to protect him, to keep on protecting him.

  
Mink only lowered his eyes in defeat, feeling remorse sweep through him like ice in his blood. There was nothing he could do or say, he didn't have the right to fight back. Even if he was killed here by this demon, he would accept his fate, and thought maybe it would even be a fitting end to his life.

  
A moment later, the the pressure released from his throat and he choked down a mouthful of air, not realising how much he had needed it until it flooded into his lungs. 'Aoba' only laughed, a deep bitter chuckle, and then leaned back in his lap, observing him as though he was some otherworldly curiosity.

  
"Your eyes are different," he casually remarked, the sharp atmosphere around him washing away in a single moment. He brought his face so close to Mink's their noses just barely touched, and he couldn't help think about the small weight of his delicate frame as he was straddled, the warmth of his pale, scarred skin, and the slight shudder of his breathe.

  
Then he lazily slid back, plopping himself onto the floor between Mink's legs, and pale slender fingers made to reach for the larger man's waist.

  
"What are you doing?" Mink hissed, frowning down at him as he instinctively tried to bat his hands away.

  
"What do you think?" he spat back, determined to slip his hands into Mink's underwear. "Maybe if I suck it you'll change your mind," he said in a deceptively delighted voice, his words edged with a subtle menace.

  
Mink only glared at him, and then with as much restraint as he could muster, pushed the moron's face away. "No," he stated firmly, and stood up from his seat. The blue haired man raised an eyebrow. "No?" he echoed, no longer trying to hide his frustration as he pushed himself to his feet. His eyes seemed flash briefly with a deep, burning fury, a spark of fire in that pale, endless yellow.

  
Then he let out a small chuckle, pale lips curving around the unrefined laughter, and suddenly turned toward the flames in the fireplace, staring down at trembling fingers wrapped in loose bandages, and strode toward the blaze. The orange reflected like a sunset in his eyes as he stretched a hand out to touch it, but Mink managed grab him by the back of his shirt and pull him away a second before his fingers could reach the fire.

  
The larger man let out a small growl of frustration, dragging the idiot away from the fire and with one, swift, well practised motion, he swung him backwards over his shoulder as though he weighed little more than a feather. "I'm not playing games anymore," he spat, somewhat surprised at the aggression in his own voice.

  
"Good," the blue haired man responded, and Mink could almost hear the sharp grin in his words.

  
"Shut up or I'll gag you," Mink replied to his comment, suddenly feeling overcome with a wave of exasperation. He'd dealt with some real low life pieces of shit in his time, but he was beginning to think that this moron was more of a handful than all of them combined. But for some reason he was determined to be fucked, and Mink knew that could be used against him.

  
"Kinky," he replied with a chuckle, struggling against Mink's hold as he strode toward the bedroom. "I bet you get turned on by some fucked up shit!" he goaded "You used to wear chains and everything!"

  
Mink rolled his eyes, not even dignifying him with a response.

"Oy!" the moron cried, clearly protesting at being ignored, and like a toddler throwing a tantrum for attention, he began flailing his legs about and banging his small fists against the older man's back. He could barely feel the impact of his assault, but all the movement still threw him off balance, and he staggered slightly as he used a foot to nudge open his bedroom door.

  
Striding across the room, Mink dropped him onto the bed, watching as his pale yellow eyes went wide with excitement, a quiet gasp leaking from his lips. "Are you going to join me on the bed?" he asked hopefully, white cheeks flushing with a subtle hint of red. Mink only ignored him and crossed the room to the cupboard, withdrawing a thick belt.  
The leather strap still clutched between his fingers, he crawled on top of 'Aoba', watching that smaller body tremble beneath him as he forced him back into the pillows, mess of blue hair scattered around his face like clumps of straggled seaweed.

  
With a sigh, he leaned down and kissed him. It was a fun kiss, he had to admit. His tongue slipped past those lips easily, and as he pushed down trying to force him to submit, the stubborn moron tried pushing back at him, almost as if they were clashing blades. But it was a lot more violent and frenzied than when he kissed the Aoba he knew, and with an odd warmth flowing through his chest, he realised he preferred those soft, loving kisses to this aggressive battle.

  
As their lips crashed together, tongues entwining in a vicious dance, Mink slowly pushed the blue haired man's arms above his head, quickly tying the leather belt around his delicate wrists and then fastening it to the wooden headboard behind them with a harsh click.

  
"Oi, what are you doing?" 'Aoba' asked, brows furrowing in confusion, as Mink climbed off of him and walked away. "Mink!" he called, watching the large man's back as he stalked across the room. "I'm not into abandonment play you shithead!"

  
"You're on time out," Mink responded firmly, as though reprimanding a misbehaving child, and then walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him. He could hear the idiot crying out from the other side of the wall, and the sound of the bed rocking and creaking as he tried to struggle free. He would leave him for ten, twenty minutes perhaps, or until he calmed down, and then try and approach him again.

  
No more than a minute later, Mink sat patiently by the fire, watching the flames violently flit, as though they were being blown about by the wind outside. 'Aoba's' cries became distant, drowned out as his mind began strolling to the past. A dark place, a map of memories he'd rather not travel right now, so as though to spite him they seemed to surge forth in his mind, stubbornly. Relentlessly.

  
He closed his eyes and took a deep breathe, the scenes playing out as vivid as a movie on the backs of his eyelids. Aoba's face, hazel eyes wide with a mixture of fear and anger, his voice choking out desperately as Mink strangled him. He could still feel the warm tender skin of his small neck on his hands, the convulsing of his throat against his palm as he tried to breathe, smell the smear of blood on his trembling blue tinged lips.

  
As he seemed to resurface from the past, he felt a tightness in his chest, a clenching in his gut. Shame washed through him, and it was only then that he realised the room behind him seemed to have gone silent. Carefully he pushed himself to his feet, quietly stalking toward the door and slowly opening it, like a cat trying not to spook a mouse. He peeked through, seeing Aoba's figure slumped on the bed, head bowed, hair falling over his face in tangled clumps.

  
He shifted at the sound of the door creaking, and eventually raised his head, just slightly, as though he barely had the strength in his body to move.  
"I give up," he murmured. For a moment Mink thought it might have been some ruse to make him lower his guard, but the way his voice dropped, devoid of anything but bitter regret, and the waver in his eyes, made him think that perhaps, for once, he was being genuine.

  
Mink looked bewildered, a flicker of doubt set into his golden gaze as he warily eyed him. It was completely uncharacteristic of the Mink that Desire had known. He was someone cold and ruthless who had always been driven by single minded determination, but now he had become softer, all those sharp edges filed down, his ruthlessness replaced with kindness, his determination with hesitation.

  
"So what is it you really want?" Mink asked after a moment, eyes narrowing.  
He shook his head, not really sure how to answer the question. What was it that he wanted? To be held by Mink? Fucked by him? Or just to feel something, see something, outside of the prison of madness he now called home. "I wonder..." he murmured thoughtfully.

 

* * *

 

 

 

_A dark shadow stood before me, billowing and shifting from side to side, like smoke rising from a fire. But it clearly wasn't something as natural as smoke. Within the black fog I saw two eyes, glowing like embers, and gradually the unsteady thing began to take form, slowly weaving itself into a shape that just barely resembled a man. I could feel those eyes watching me, an unwavering, burning gaze._

  
_"Who are you?" I asked, the words choked with fear._

  
_"I am you," it replied, reaching a long, misshapen hand out toward me, fingers curling into long, thin talons. I backed away, my blood turning to ice in my veins. "No...don't touch me," the words gasped out of my trembling lips. My throat felt tight, as though it was knotted, my stomach filled with a heavy sickness. Something inside me, some instinct I couldn't quite understand, was telling me no matter what, I cannot touch this terrifying creature._

  
_Black tendrils of smoke seemed to rise from it's body, curling around it's form in a dark swirl of mist, and it raised it's arms by its side. "You can't run forever," it said, voice echoing harshly through me like a blade to my skull. And then the coils of black vapour shot out toward me, so fast I didn't even have time to think about dodging. I felt them snake around my neck, my arms, my legs, binding me in place. I tried to fight myself free, but it was like being wrapped up inside a spider's web, every time I moved I just seemed to be tangling myself up further._

  
_"No! let go!" I said, my voice a pathetic whimper. I was scared. I could feel the fear in my chest, choking my lungs, filling my stomach like mud._  
_"You must accept me, Aoba," it said, pulling me toward it with such speed my stomach flipped. A dizzy sickness washed over me, my vision blurring to the sight of claw like hands reaching for my face. I tried to scream, but my voice was trapped in my throat, and as those fingers touched me, a wave of ice water seemed to surge through my body._

 _"Accept it," the voice said, seeping into every corner of my mind, making me feel as though my brain was going numb, my thoughts grinding to a halt. "Accept me..."_  
_For a moment I was blinded in darkness, so pitch black that it seemed empty. A world of nothing. And then suddenly there was hot breathe on my face, the taste of blood on my lips, the pressure of hands around my neck. Blue eyes glared down at me, and in my peripheral I could see a messy tangle of dreads, scraping the floor on either side of my face._

  
_I looked up to the man choking me, and was shocked to see a familiar face. Same striking features, although they were a lot harsher than I thought they could ever be. "Mi-nk," I tried say his name, but only a choked voice came out. Why. I thought. Why is he doing this?_

  
_I felt tears sting my eyes as the edges of my vision darkened. My lungs felt as though they were about to burst, and I tried desperately to gasp in air, only to have my chest abruptly tighten, my throat feeling as though it had been torn up with shards of glass. The last thing I saw was those eyes, ice blue, burning with something dark and terrifying, as my vision faded in swirls of black._

  
_"NO!" I screamed, writhing against the black mist that still bound me. The skin around my eyes seemed tight and swollen and my face was soaked in tears, I could feel them streaming down my cheeks. "No..." I repeated with a shallow gasp, opening my eyes to see the shadow looming before me, that fiery gaze resting on me._  
_"Accept it. Accept me," it said again._

  
_"I-I don't understand!" I cried, cold fear sliding into my veins. But through all my terror, I had slowly begun to put all the pieces together, and I felt my body go limp, all the will to fight back drained. The creature seemed to cock its head to the side, billowing hair forming around the dark oval of its face._

  
_"No..." the word seeped from my lips unintentionally as I watched him change, all the fog clearing away like the shifting of clouds in an overcast sky. Blue hair, pale skin, a slender body. And dull hazel eyes. I fell onto the ground, as the dark mist vanished, and could only stare up at him, a heavy lump jammed in my throat._

  
_"You're...me..." but before I could begin to say anymore, to ask one of the thousands of questions racing through my head, I felt a sharp pain tear through my skull, as though something was about to burst from my head, and everything around me vanished._


	12. Destruction

"Can you release me?" it wasn't a demand, as Mink would have expected, but rather a request. Still, exercising great caution, Mink simply shook his head in response. This side of Aoba was wild, unpredictable. He couldn't take any chances. Those yellow eyes lowered, mess of blue hair falling over them like a curtain closing on a stage, signifying the end of a play. "Aoba did this to himself, you know?" he said in response, voice flat. Mink raised his brows, but said nothing, waiting for the other man to elaborate.  
"His mind," he said. Then, bitterly. "Our mind,"

  
"What do you mean?" Mink asked, a cold terror clinging to his chest like ice.  
"He couldn't handle it. The terror, the trauma, the nightmares about everything they had done to him. It was fucked up, even by my standards. If you think I'm a demon, you should see those two. The look in their eyes when they torture someone. You know they ripped off all of his finger nails just to see if they would grow back. Even I felt that. They locked him in a metal box with no food or water for days. They flayed and burned parts of his skin off. They made that lion all-mate fuck him until he bled. They choked him to-"

  
"Shut up," Mink cut him off. He couldn't bear to hear anymore. He felt his skin go cold, ice prickling all the way to his bones, and his chest felt tight, heavy, as though a fist was clenched around his heartbeat. He thought about it. The scars on Aoba's skin, the discolored patches, some dark red and some light, pale and silvery, how thin he had been in the first few weeks, his skin white as a sheet, stretched over his bones like elastic. How his fingernails were always chewed right down to the stump, the skin around them torn and red.

  
Mink had removed people's fingernails before, a slow, agonizing torture that was often met with screams of pain, and sometimes the victim's passing out. He never stopped to think if they would grow back, what they would look like if they did. He never needed to know.

  
"Well. He couldn't handle it. One day, lying half dead in some piss stained back alley, he took a shard of glass to his wrist. He intended to kill himself, of course. But then, seeing his own reflection he decided to use scrap to erase his memories of those two instead. It would have been fine, if it had worked. But he was too unstable. He fucked it up. He broke his own mind," 'Aoba' explained, as though he was telling a story about someone he didn't care for.

  
"He forgot a lot of things they had done, sure. But he also erased his past along with it. Well, not erased. More like he locked it away in a chest, let it fester and grow until something dark and angry and tortured emerged from it. A 'third Aoba' perhaps. Something he's eventually going to have to overcome and accept once more if he ever hopes to be whole again. He's started remembering things because the creature in the case is slowly crawling out."

  
Mink blinked, trying to absorb this information. He couldn't quite wrap his head around it. Aoba had used scrap on himself, and failed. His repressed memories had split into a third personality inside his head. But what would happen if something lik that took over? All that pain from the past, all the torture he had endured. He would probably fall completely into madness. He could never be sure with Aoba. His mind worked differently from anyone else's, because he was an experiment born in a lab. He wasn't quite human, after all, was he?

  
The blue haired man observed him, he could feel that burning gaze on him, like fire seeping into his skin. "You understand, don't you?" he asked.  
Mink nodded hesitantly. "If he doesn't overcome this madness inside of his head, he will be lost in it forever. Wont he?"  
The other Aoba only nodded. "I tried to protect him from it, you know. I wanted at least one of us to survive. He is stronger than me. He always has been," and then, in a moment of silence, he slumped back into the bed, head falling against the pillows with a soft thump, and his eyes closed, his breathing going steady as he slipped back into sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

_I was in a dull room, surrounded by crumbling walls and a damp, musky scent, staring up at a huge man who sat before me. A striking, familiar face, twisted into scorn, long dreadlocks hanging loosely around his head. He said something, and then a group of men were pinning me down, tearing my clothes off layer by layer, talking about fucking me. I looked at the man, who had ordered this to happen, but his eyes were empty. Devoid of remorse, of compassion as he stared blankly, like he wasn't really seeing me at all. "Mink, please," I tried to say, but my voice choked out and was swallowed into silence._

  
_My vision went dark again, and as it gradually returned I was now watching that same face, so close to mine we were nearly touching. His eyes were a cold blue, watching me so intensely I felt as though he was looking right into my soul. I could hear the shallow grunts he made as he fucked me, feel the sharp pain that seemed to rip into me with every thrust, a hot barb in my gut. I laughed, in joy, in pleasure, begging for more, even when I knew I should have felt humiliated and terrified, something inside me, buried deep under my skin just wanted to be fucked until there was nothing left. "Mink," I choked his name out in the throes of ecstasy, arms tightly gripping onto him, fingers trembling as my toes curled in on themselves._

I awoke, damp and sweaty beneath the bed sheets, my pulse racing like marching drums through every inch of my veins. For a moment I struggled to gasp in air, my chest feeling tight and heavy, my throat feeling as though it was clogged with sand. I pushed myself into a sitting position, and took a deep breathe, trying to still my trembling nerves. Almost on instinct, I found my lips forming Mink's name, wanting him by my side. But as the door swung open and he entered the room, I rememberd the dream, the memories I'd recalled and suddenly I felt sick, my stomach churning with bile and with a very sudden and harsh awareness, as though reality had just crashed upon me, I realized it. I was in the bedroom of a man who had raped me.

  
"What's wrong?" he asked. He looked exhausted, his expression as still and unreadable as ever, like an old statue showing no signs of chipping away over time. But I could see it in the dark circles beneath his eyes, in the mess of his long hair, in the sweat forming on his brow. And I could also see his face as he had strangled me, burned painfully, dreadfully, into my mind in the same way fire left scars behind on my skin.

  
_I shouldn't be with you_ he had said to me. _They've already hurt you so much, and I'm just as bad as them_. Those words seemed to engrave themselves into my mind as I watched him, my chest feeling sore, a coldness crawling into my body. I suddenly felt like screaming. Everything seemed to pour forth into my lungs, the fear, the confusion, the sadness, catching in the back of my throat like I had swallowed a rock.

  
"Get away from me," my voice was thin, strained, like the words were being pulled tightly from my lips.

"Aoba," he said my name as he had countless times before, voice soft, yet with a sharp edge of worry. But I suddenly hated the way it sounded on his lips, every syllable twisting through my chest painfully.

  
"Get away from me," I repeated. He took a step forward, and I flinched back, a sudden terror sparking in my veins, knives pressing against the inside of my skin. He seemed to go still, his eyes watching me carefully, and despite the fact I knew those eyes, I knew their kindness and their warmth, their golden colour like liquid sunlight, I was terrified of them. I felt like I was being forced back into a corner, a rodent trapped by the gaze of a snake. My throat felt tight, my lungs painfully swollen, and suddenly I couldn't breathe. It was like I was swimming in mud, consumed from head to toe in it.

  
"Get away," the words were quiet, labored beneath my heavy breathing, and after a moment he spun around and left the room. He didn't say anything, he didn't even glance at me. He just walked out, closing the door behind him, leaving me alone in the dark.

  
The air around me was so still and silent, like a moment frozen in time, the surreal calm before a storm. And then, like the shattering of glass, I felt something inside me break, my soul split open, my insides pouring out in an endless stream, and I was screaming, the room around me blurred  with tears as I tore myself from the edge of the bed, grabbed something - I didn't know what- and launched it across the room.

  
I heard it, _felt_ it break as it collided with the wall, exploding into a violent rain of shards.I grabbed more things, a mirror from a desk, a large coffee mug, some ornaments that sat neatly upon a shelf, everything, anything I could find. It was like I was caught up in a frenzy, unable to think, unable to feel, the only way I could release this agony, this turmoil that stirred like thunder in my soul, was to destroy.  _Destroy._


	13. This is Letting Go

The air around me had the surreal stillness and silence of the atmosphere in the hours after a storm, and as though a hurricane had swept through the room, I stared at the destruction I had caused in my relentless frenzy. The window was shattered, shards of glass littering the floor, and flurries of snow blew through on an icy wind. But I didn't care. I didn't feel it.

  
I had somehow managed to destroy Mink's wardrobe, the door completely ripped from its hinges, a massive jagged split down the middle of it, like the gaping jaw of a beast. The bedside table was flipped onto its side, halfway across the room, and the remains of ornaments and books were scattered across the floor, torn pages and shattered porcelain. My fingers were bleeding, red soaking through the bandages, and my leg was cut open, a long, wide gash down the side of my calf, blood streaming from the wound. I couldn't feel the pain from it at all. I couldn't even remember exactly how it had got there. My memory, beginning with the breakdown, was in scattered, blurred fragments, spinning through my mind in a blur of dark shapes and colours. My head spun with it, as though my mind was tumbling around in the waves of a stormy sea.

  
I was sat on the wooden floor, too tired now to remain on my feet. I felt it all the way to my core, an exhaustion that crept through me and hollowed out my bones. I didn't even have the energy to cry anymore, my tears had long since dried, bitter and salty, into the puffy red skin of my face. I just stared silently, absently, even as I heard the door creak open, an orange streak of light visible from the corner of my eye, illuminating the darkness with a dim, unsteady glow. I just barely registered the sound of footsteps by the protesting squeak of wooden floorboards, the uncertain touch on my arm, pulling me to my feet, dragging me away from the room.

I let him pull me, legs shaking as I walked, stumbling into the living room, sitting on the sofa in front of the fire as he checked over the cut on my leg with light, hesitant fingers, and re-bandaged my burned hands.

  
He put a blanket over me, and without really realising I ended up lying down on my side, staring at the flames, remembering something from long ago, screams of death echoing in the night, towers of flames pouring into the sky, the harsh resounding bursts of gunfire. An iron clamp around my neck, chains around my wrists, heavy with more than just their psychical weight, but like anchors buried into my soul, pulling at the beat of my heart, draining my every breathe, reminding me of the pain of being alive, being a survivor.

  
There was a grief that hollowed out my soul, stole away pieces of me until there wasn't enough left to call me a person anymore. A pain and terror that came from being chained up and tortured, a prison that broke down what torn scraps of me remained, destroyed my will to live. And later, the red hot anger, fire that flooded into every inch of my veins, burning away that sad, scared little boy and filling the emptiness that remained, replacing it with a new man with only one purpose, one goal. Revenge.

  
These memories, these emotions, weren't mine, I realised, in a state of half awareness, caught between the present and the past, reality and a dream. They were his. Mink's. I felt everything as vividly as though I had lived through it myself, and yet I knew somehow, like an instinct pressing into my gut, that I hadn't. Mink had.

  
My heart ached, like an iron weight inside my chest, and my head was filled with turmoil, chaos, as the pieces of the puzzle began to fall in place. But still it wasn't enough. There was too many gaps, too many abstract details and obscured pictures to create a clear image, and it frustrated me, like a wound I couldn't quite sew shut, a scab I couldn't stop picking at.

  
I wanted to scream but I no longer had the energy to even move, so I closed my eyes, letting the world of sleep embrace me in its dark, endless oblivion.

 

 

* * *

 

  
Mink did his best to tidy the mess in his bedroom, repair what he could and discard everything that was too broken to be fixed. He swept the shattered glass and porcelain from the floor, catching dust and dirt along the way. He used part of the broken wardrobe door to board up the window, shivering against the chill wind that cut through the room like ice as he hammered it into place. He reorganized his book shelf, and put aside those that were damaged to the extent of being unreadable. But they weren't yet useless, they could still be fuel for the fire.

It took him a good few hours to somewhat reorganize the mess, and when he emerged from the room, Aoba was lying on his side, fast asleep beneath the soft blankets on the couch, his pale face gleaming with sweat, illuminated by the light of the fire. His expression was slightly agitated beneath a tumbled mess of his blue hair, and Mink watched him for a moment as he seemed to stir with a small whimper, before settling down into a silent sleep once more.

  
Mink took the spare room that night, his own bedroom far too cold on account of the window, but he barely slept. The room felt cramped, filled to the brim with Aoba, in the scent left behind on the pillows and bed covers, his presence left behind on his belongings, the open book on the bedside table, clothes scattered on the floor, a couple of empty mugs sat atop the dresser. Aoba wasn't very good at keeping things organised, Mink realised, and had they been a normal couple perhaps it would have occurred to him a lot sooner, under ordinary circumstances.

  
He allowed himself just a brief moment to imagine the ordinary couple they could have been. Perhaps, if their lives hadn't both been destroyed by the same man, they could have met under different circumstances. A chance meeting, like bumping into each other on a busy street. Mink wouldn't have known what to say, but Aoba would have gotten flustered and apologised immediately.

  
Mink snorted at his own stupidity, eyes opening and image shattering. He had never once allowed himself to contemplate what ifs, to get caught up in things that could have been and what never will be. It was too easy to get lost in the beautiful lie, the illusion that his life could have possibly lead somewhere else. It distracted him from his goal, and anything that didn't help him reach his goal was unnecessary. But he no longer had a goal. He no longer had anything, really.

Even though Aoba was sleeping in the other room, just mere meters away, it felt as though he was gone, leaving only a faint trace of himself behind, the ghost of his existence. Maybe it was the realization that whatever they had shared had been destroyed tonight. Mink had made the mistake of daring to hope that he and Aoba had the chance of a future together, a chance to piece together some sort of life from this broken mess they had tumbled into. He had never let himself hope for a future of any kind until Aoba came crashing into his life, tearing down the walls he had carefully built around himself, forcing his way inside and loosening the shackles of fate he had condemned himself to.

  
Mink felt deflated, worn down, a heavy weight creeping into his soul, settling like lead in the pit of his stomach. The memories of a distant past welled up, flowing to the forefront of his mind like blood from a wound. He recalled the smoke as thick as ash, the fire that towered into the sky, the blades of grass beneath his feet painted red. The iron scent of blood, mixed with burning flesh and gunpowder, that sickly acrid smell that choked down his throat, filled his mouth with bile. And the screams of his people, his family, dying. He couldn't forget those screams. If he let his mind drift too long, sometimes he would hear them as though it was still happening. Maybe for him it never stopped happening, in a way. Always in the back of his mind, being replayed, relived, defining the course of his life and the path he had taken even years after that day was over.

He only ever felt like it stopped when his hands traced across Aoba's soft, pale skin, his lips grazed his mouth in gentle kisses. Sometimes Just Aoba's smile alone could silence the war inside his head.

  
When he finally gave up on the idea of sleep, faint traces of sunlight could be seen from the window, the red and orange sky of an impending dawn, somehow made to seem pale and cold by the snowfall. Quietly he left the room, re lit the fire, and stopped to look at Aoba for a moment. He was still asleep, but now he looked almost peaceful, his expression relaxed, his breathing steady. He had shifted onto his other side, nuzzling his face into the back of the sofa. Perhaps he was having a peaceful dream, unlike last night.

  
Mink prepared some sandwiches, simple cheese and cold cuts of meat, and left them on the table by Aoba, along with a glass of water. He would have eaten something himself, but a sickness churned in the pit of his stomach, putting him off of the idea. He fought the urge to stroke Aoba's hair, to caress his cheek with a finger. He no longer had the right to touch him. He never had the right to touch him in the first place, he reminded himself.

  
Shrugging on his heavy coat, he left the house to go for a walk, to find some solitude in which to breathe, to think.

  
The cold morning air hit him like a smack in the face, accompanied with a chill wind and the soft, unsteady fall of snow around him, and all the tiredness of a sleepless night seemed to wash from his bones. He didn't know what to do. It was a very rare occurrence that Mink found himself with no answers, no solutions. His thoughts were in such a jumbled mess he wasn't even sure of what questions he should be asking. He needed time to think things through carefully, but he knew that his mind and heart would probably never align on matters regarding Aoba. It made no sense to keep Aoba by his side anymore, he had been teetering on the edge of this conclusion for some time, ignoring it, but last night had finally forced him over the edge, making it clear. It was only painful for the both of them, the best thing would be to let him go. Send him home, as he should have done as soon as he was in a healthy enough condition to travel.

  
But something deep inside him was violently protesting the idea, the image of a young boy, scared and alone with nothing in the world, seemed to press against the front of his mind, and he realised that he hadn't changed since then, not really. He was still afraid of being alone, and perhaps that was the reason he had clung onto Aoba so selfishly, so desperately. He knew it would hurt to let go. When he had thought Aoba was dead, the pain and sorrow were akin to what he felt at losing his family. Like his heart had been torn from his chest, like his soul had been burned to ash inside him. But somehow this hurt even more. Knowing Aoba was there, within his reach, yet he could never touch him, he could never have him, and it was a punishment of his own making, a pain he deserved. A longing that would weigh him down for the rest of his life.

  
It was a battle between logic and emotion, a battle that he almost thought was impossible to win. To do the right thing, the fair thing and let Aoba go, or to keep him, to have him even if it meant hurting him again. But if he did that, he would be no better than the man he had been in the past. And no better than those two monsters, who had imprisoned and tortured him.

  
He sighed, and with it he felt as though he was deflating. He had all the information he needed to contact someone from Aoba's past, stored away on a drive. He could easily arrange a fake passport and identity, just to be on the safe side, and then booking a flight to Japan would pose no problem at all. And since Aoba no longer wanted to be near him, it wouldn't be difficult to convince him to go. The hardest part would be watching him leave again.


End file.
